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ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 
A  ROMANCE  OF  FACT 


Alaska  Man's  Luck 

A  ROMANCE  OF  FACT 


BY 

HJALMAR  RUTZEBECK 


BONI     AND     LIVERIGHT 
PUBLISHERS  NEW    YORK 


Copyright,  1920,  bt 
BONI  &  LIVERIGHT,  Inc. 


First  Edition November,  1920 

Second  Editiom January,  igti 

TUrd  Edition April.  1921 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


TO  MY  WIFE 


17S.1.15(; 


A  LETTER  FROM  THE  AUTHOR  BY 
WAY  OF  PREFACE 

I  am  writing  you  in  regard  to  my  book  which  was  sent  to 
you  from  Chicago  by  Miss  Massee  of  the  American  Library 
Association  and  Frank  E.  Wolfe.  I  must  tell  you  that  the 
story  as  related  in  the  manuscript  is  true  and  that  I  actually 
lived  the  story  and  married  the  girl.  The  description  of  the 
country,  is  as  I  have  seen  it,  and  the  life  as  I  have  lived  it. 
I  realize  that  it  is  written  in  an  unusual  style  and  that  the 
construction  is  very  simple.  Sometimes  I  had  fears  that 
it  would  not  be  published  at  all,  but  every  one  who  has  heard 
it  has  liked  it  and  praised  it,  and  after  all  I  thought  perhaps 
it  might  go. 

I  was  born  and  raised  in  Denmark,  where  I  left  school 
when  I  was  12,  determined  to  become  an  author.  Although 
I  have  not  gone  to  school  since  I  have  become  an  American 
citizen,  I  have  picked  up  not  only  the  English  language 
but  much  other  knowledge.  For,  after  all,  life  is  a  great 
school  itself.  It  is  only  in  the  last  five  years  that  I  have 
tried  to  write,  and  during  that  time  have  been  hampered 
greatly  by  having  to  make  a  living  for  myself  and  my  family, 
except  the  one  year  when  I  was  in  jail.  You  will  readily  see 
that  I  still  have  a  great  deal  to  learn,  and,  perhaps,  you  will  be 
tolerant  of  my  shortcomings.  I  am  in  a  very  humble  mood 
right  now,  writing  here  from  Viking's  Cove,  Haines,  Alaska, 
where  I  have  made  our  home.  Maybe  you  will  tell  me 
where  my  story  is  faulty.  Generally,  I  am  quite  conceited, 
but  now  in  my  humble  moments,  I  accomplish  my  best  work. 
Please  write  to  me  soon.  People  have  laughed  at  me  and 
held  me  up  to  ridicule  and  said  that  I  am  crazy  to  think 
that  I  can  get  my  first  book  published,  but  my  friends  who 


viii  PREFACE 

have  sent  you  my  manuscript  say  that  this  hope  of  mine 
which  I  mention  is  only  the  same  ambition  that  has  in- 
spired other  people  to  big  things. 

Again  I  ask,  please  write  soon.  Sometimes  mail  makes 
connection  all  the  way  through  and  reaches  here  in  about  a 
week  from  California.  It  often  takes  a  riiuch  longer  time. 
Our  post  offices  up  here  are  really  a  joke  part  of  the  time; 
e.g.,  on  Sunday  evening  when  I  came  into  town  and  wanted 
to  get  my  mail,  the  hardware  store,  where  the  postoffice  is, 
was  closed.  I  went  to  the  Postmaster's  house.  He  was 
just  about  to  eat  his  supper  and  didn't  care  to  walk  a  block 
or  so  to  the  store,  so  he  gave  me  the  key  and  sent  me  down 
to  get  my  own  mail. 

Maybe  if  you  publish  my  book,  you  will  come  up  here  to 
see  us.  Alaska  is  such  a  beautiful  green  land  in  the  summer, 
in  spite  of  the  terrible  winters.  The  climate  is  about  the 
same  as  that  of  the  Scandinavian  countries  and  there  is  no 
reason  to  doubt  that  Alaska  will  be  as  thickly  populated  as 
those  countries  some  day.  If  you  city  people  only  knew 
about  it,  there  would  be  a  stampede  to  the  thousands  of 
miles  of  land,  timber,  mining  and  rich  fishing  that  we  have 
up  here. 

My  next  books  about  Alaska  will  tell  about  the  mining. 
But  here  I  am,  running  on,  when  at  the  bottom  of  my  heart 
fear  grips  me  and  my  hand  shakes  a  little  as  I  write,  be- 
cause I  can't  help  thinking  that  possibly  you  will  say  my 
book  is  not  good  enough. 

You  must  be  busy,  so  I  shall  say  good-by.  I  wait  here 
patiently  at  my  homestead  beside  the  lake  until  Uncle  Sam 
lets  me  hear  from  you. 

Yours  respectfully, 

HjALMAR  RUTZEBECK. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I    The  Girl i 

II    Beating  My  Way  North 4 

III  A  Logging  Duel 10 

IV  The  Last  Lap — ^Alaska 20 

V    Prospecting — ^a  Stampede 25 

VI    A  Poor  Pardner 36 

VII    Sheep  Hunting 46 

VIII    Down  to  My  Last  Cent 55 

IX    A  False  Move 62 

X    Across  the  Glacier 78 

XI    Indian  Friends 97 

XII    In  Jail  Again  and  Out 122 

XIII  One  More  Attempt  at  Freedom 133 

XIV  Federal  Prison,  Juneau .  157 

XV    My  Trial — ^John  Puts  It  Over 171 

XVI    Serving  My  Term 177 

XVII    A  Cave-down  in  the  Mine 198 

XVIII    My  Claim  on  Viking's  Cove 210 

XIX  A  Small  Fortune  in  Salmon  Fishing     .     .     .  225 
XX  Lonely  in   Skagway — the    Phrenologist  Re- 
stores My  Pride 233 

XXI  Building  My  Cabin  by  Odin's  Lake      .     .     .  247 

XXII    The  Girl  Again 252 


ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 


ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 


CHAPTER  I 


THE  GIRL. 


1  DISCONTINUED  my  diary  when  I  entered  the  army, 
but  now  I  again  feel  the  urgent  need  to  write  down 
what  I  am  thinking  and  feeling  and  doing.  I  must 
say  it  and  I  do  not  want  to  halt  some  stranger  on  the  street 
and  pour  my  tale  of  joy  into  his  ears.  For  I  have  met  the 
girl; — I  had  always  known  that  her  eyes  would  be  like  that, 
blue-gray,  kind  eyes,  gentle  eyes,  compassionate  eyes.  I  had 
rather  supposed  that  her  hair  would  be  dark,  but  I  like  it 
just  as  well  the  way  it  is,  brown  with  something  golden 
about  it.  And  she  has  the  healthiest  color  I  ever  saw;  all 
creamy  and  pink  and  clean,  oh,  very  clean.  She  is  big  for 
a  girl,  tall  and  broad  and  deep  chested,  and  somehow  she 
makes  you  feel  that  she  has  hidden  within  her  great  un- 
touched stores  of  vitality.  She  is  very  Norsk,  fit  mate  for 
me,  who  am  a  Dane,  a  Viking,  come  to  this  new  world  to 
seek  a  mate  and  make  a  home. 

Of  course  there  have  been  other  girls,  and  I  thought  I 
was  in  love  with  each  of  them,  but  this  one  is  different  from 
any  of  the  rest.  She  is  big  enough,  and  healthy  enough, 
and  she  is  sweet  and  pure  and  intelligent.  But  the  thing 
that  impresses  me  most  is  the  way  she  looks  at  one,  just  the 
friendliest  kind  of  way  that  makes  you  feel  warm  and  com- 
fortable in  her  presence. 

I  met  her  in  the  library  of  the  Y.  P.  S.  L.  in  Los  An- 
geles, on  the  eve  of  a  dance.    A  girl  friend  brought  her  in 


2  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

and  introduced  us,  telling  me  that  she  had  come  for  the 
dance.  Of  course,  I  took  her  hint  and  asked  the  girl  for 
the  first,  third  and  fifth,  but  she  evidently  thought  I  was  too 
bold,  for  she  would  only  promise  me  the  first  one,  and  then 
went  away  with  the  other  girls.  I  was  quite  impressed. 
That  evening  went  by  very  swiftly. 

I  took  her  and  my  friend,  Martha,  home  and  I  told  them 
of  the  north.  And  what  do  you  think !  She — Marian  her 
name  is — said  that  it  had  been  the  dream  of  her  life  to  go 
to  Alaska.  I  was  so  happy  that  my  imagination  ran  away 
with  me.  I  told  them  I  was  going  back  up  there  to  make 
my  home,  and  I  described  just  the  kind  of  a  place  I  was 
going  to  have.  There  is  a  little  trout  lake  up  in  the  woods, 
on  the  Chilkat  peninsula,  and  I  imagined  a  comfortable 
cabin  built  on  the  brink  of  the  lake,  the  little  valley  up  there 
cleared  and  made  into  pastures,  and  turnip  patches  with 
cows  grazing  round  about.  I  told  them  of  the  peace  and 
the  stillness  of  the  north,  and  of  the  greatness  and  the  mag- 
nificence of  the  mountains,  and  there  came  a  longing  look 
into  that  girl's  eyes.  She  saw  it  all  as  I  described  it,  and 
she  wanted  to  be  there.  I  wonder  if  the  little  lake  and  the 
valley  around  it  wouldn't  make  a  nice  farm,  once  the  land 
were  cleared.  It  looked  awfully  good  the  way  I  imagined 
it  and  I  think  I'd  better  take  a  look  at  it  when  I  get  back 
up  there. 

I  asked  her  to  go  to  the  movies  with  me  the  next  eve- 
ning and  what  did  we  see  but  pictures  of  the  northland! 
On  the  way  home  I  again  told  her  of  that  country  and  I 
could  tell  by  the  way  she  looked  that  she  wanted  to  go 
there.  If  she'll  ever  want  to  go  there  with  me  I  shall  be  a 
happy  man. 

Then  last  night  I  went  with  her  to  a  party,  and  on  the 
way  home  I  told  her  that  I  loved  her,  and  that  to-morrow  I 
would  start  for  the  north,  either  to  make  a  stake  and  come 
down  to  make  my  home  here,  or  to  make  ray  home  up 
there,  and  I  asked  her  if  she  would  come  when  I  had  the 


THE  GIRL  3 

cabin  built,  or  marry  me  when  I  came  back  down  with  a 
stake. 

She  said  she  didn't  know — she  had  only  known  me  a  few 
days,  and  although  she  liked  me,  and  had  always  hoped 
some  day  to  go  north — she  asked  for  time.  She  would  be 
friends  with  me. 

I  told  her  that  I  intended  to  start  the  next  day,  and  that 
I  hadn't  much  money,  but  would  beat  my  way  to  Seattle. 
I  asked  her  if  she  would  correspond  with  me,  and  she  said 
she  would,  and  gave  me  her  ring,  which  barely  fits  my  little 
finger,  as  a  token  of  friendship.  I  gave  her  my  match  safe 
for  her  talisman — one  that  has  practically  saved  my  life 
several  times  out  in  the  cold,  wet  woods. 


CHAPTER  II 

BEATING    MY   WAY   NORTH 

Santa  Barbara,  Cal. 
Feb.  14,  1 91 4. 

I  HAVE  started  on  my  way  north.  I  put  on  two  suits  of 
underwear,  my  blue  serge  suit,  with  a  suit  of  overalls 
over  the  top  of  it  all.  I  put  a  small  towel,  a  piece  of 
Ivory  soap,  my  comb,  and  brush,  and  my  shaving  gear  in 
my  pocket,  and  sewed  what  money  I  had  in  my  clothes  in 
various  inconspicuous  places.  I  was  then  ready  for  any- 
thing, and  already  I  have  had  one  small  adventure. 

I  came  to  Burbank  on  the  Pacific  Electric  car  line  (paid 
my  way)  in  the  early  morning  yesterday.  I  purchased  my 
breakfast  at  a  baker's  shop,  and  wandered  down  to  the 
Southern  Pacific  Railroad  track,  looking  for  a  quiet  place 
to  eat  it.  In  a  grassy  nook  by  a  railroad  bridge  I  sat  down 
and  ate  my  cookies  and  doughnuts,  and  had  just  finished 
when  there  came  a  fellow  in  a  buggy  driving  in  among  the 
bushes.  He  said  he  was  a  constable  and  yelled  at  me  to 
get  out  of  there.  He  was  very  funny,  so  highly  angry  at 
nothing  at  all.  Perhaps  I  was  a  bit  impudent.  At  any 
rate  he  flourished  a  revolver  around  a  good  deal  and  then 
drove  off  furiously,  to  get  a  warrant,  he  said.  Since  I 
didn't  care  about  wasting  any  time  in  Burbank,  I  walked 
out  past  the  city  limits,  and  hopped  a  passing  truck. 

I  rode  a  long  way  with  it  till  late  in  the  night,  when  it 
stopped  at  a  pretty  good  sized  town.  I  got  off,  and  as  I 
saw  a  train  pulling  into  the  station  a  few  blocks  away,  I 
ran  over  there,  sneaked  close  to  the  train,  crawled  up  onto 
the  baggage  car,  and  rode  out  with  it.     I  arrived  here  in 


BEATING  MY  WAY  NORTH  5 

Santa  Barbara  this  morning,  having  completed  the  first  lap 
of  my  journey  to  the  north. 


San  Luis  Obispo,  Cal. 
Feb.  15,  1914. 

I  haven't  progressed  much,  but  I  am  nearer  the  north 
than  I  was  yesterday,  and  that  is  at  least  something.  I  am 
sitting  in  a  box  car  waiting  for  the  next  train  to  the  North. 
In  Santa  Barbara  yesterday  I  waited  for  the  "Lark." 
When  she  came  rumbling  in  at  10.39  I  was  hiding  behind 
a  pile  of  sand  ready  to  make  a  rush  for  her  when  she 
started.  As  soon  as  she  came  in  six  men  with  flash  lights 
came  around,  and  searched  the  train  all  over.  They  were 
detectives  or  police  I  believe,  for  they  found  two  men  on 
top  of  the  baggage  car  and  took  them  away  with  them,  to 
jail,  I  suppose.  I  almost  decided  to  sneak  off  and  give  up 
the  attempt  to  ride  her,  but  I  thought  I  might  as  well  take 
a  chance  to-day  as  to-morrow,  so  I  waited.  Some  of  the 
officers  passed  very  close  to  me  several  times,  but  it  was 
dark  and  I  lay  as  still  as  a  log  so  that  they  did  not  see  me. 
The  train  started  and  I  made  a  dash  for  the  locomotive. 
Nobody  saw  me.  I  climbed  up  on  the  water  tank  and 
crouched  close  to  it  to  keep  from  being  seen.  It  was  thrill- 
ing to  fool  the  police  that  way,  and  although  it  was  cold 
and  began  to  rain,  there  was  real  joy  in  beating  the  fast 
passenger  and  mail  train.  Yet  I  did  not  feel  quite  at  ease 
for  I  was  breaking  the  law,  and  if  I  were  caught  would  be 
put  in  jail,  considered  a  criminal  by  society.  Well,  I  will 
try  not  to  get  caught. 

It  rained  pretty  hard,  and  when  I  came  to  San  Luis 
Obispo  I  got  off  and  found  an  empty  box  car,  slept  a  while, 
and  here  I  am. 


Richmond,  Cal. 
Feb.   18,  1914. 
I  had  a  good  night's  rest  in  San  Jose  and  yesterday 
morning  I  hurried  down  to  catch  the  8:35.  It  started  out 


6  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

as  I  was  turning  the  comer  of  the  station  and  I  made  a 
dash  for  it.  A  railroad  bull,  (that's  what  the  hobos  call 
them)  was  on  the  first  blind  baggage  car,  watching  to  see 
that  no  hobos  got  on  board,  but  I  jumped  upon  the 
second  baggage  car  and  crawled  up  on  top  before  he 
had  time  to  see  me.  There  I  lay  until  the  train  got  into 
San  Francisco.  Outside  of  the  yards  she  slowed  down  a 
bit  and  I  jumped  off,  and  walked  straight  down  to  the  ferry 
building,  eating  a  dozen  doughnuts  on  the  way.  I  paid  my 
way  to  Oakland  and  rode  all  the  way  to  the  Sixteenth 
street  station,  waiting  around  there  until  a  train  pulled  out 
going  north.  I  ran  for  the  locomotive  but  a  bull  sprang 
out  from  between  the  cars  where  he  had  been  hiding  and 
grabbed  me  by  the  arm. 

I  was  arrested! 

When  a  man  is  arrested  he  feels  as  I  imagine  a  bird  feels 
when  it  has  just  been  caught.  I  was  keenly  on  the  alert  for 
a  chance  to  escape,  and  I  glanced  desperately  to  right  and 
left,  my  mind  busily  groping  for  some  way  out  of  the  grasp 
of  the  heavy  hand  that  held  me  imprisoned  and  the  terrible 
authority  that  it  represented,  the  law  that  I  had  broken. 

The  bull  evidently  meant  business  for  he  led  me  toward 
the  station  without  saying  a  word,  and  his  sinister,  busi- 
ness-like manner  froze  me  to  the  marrow.  I  couldn't 
afford  to  be  put  in  jail  and  in  my  desperation  I  decided 
to  break  away.  As  we  went  around  the  comer  of  the  sta- 
tion building,  I  broke  away  from  him  and  ran  up  Sixteenth 
street  with  him  after  me.  He  was  not  as  fast  as  I  was  and 
I  soon  put  some  distance  between  us. 

"Halt!"  he  yelled.    "Halt!" 

I  ran  on,  and  bang!  went  his  gun.  I  swerved  instinc- 
tively and  began  to  zigzag  this  way  and  that  as  I  ran  up 
the  street.  Bang!  bang!  went  his  gun  again  and  a  bullet 
buried  itself  in  the  building  I  was  passing.  Bang!  bang! 
bang!  he  shot  again  and  I  jumped  over  a  fence  and  ran 
across  a  back  yard,  nearly  stepping  on  a  big  dog  that  ran 
yelping  away  under  a  shed.    Over  another  fence  I  flew  and 


BEATING  MY  WAY  NORTH  7 

into  a  garden  where  two  ladies  sat  in  rocking  chairs  on  a 
lawn.  There  was  quite  a  commotion,  what  with  the  dog's 
yelping  and  my  breaking  through  the  bushes.  As  I  passed 
by  them  I  saw  one  of  them  go  over  backwards,  chair  and 
all,  and  the  last  glimpse  I  got  was  of  a  pair  of  legs  sticking 
straight  up.  I  got  rid  of  that  bull  all  right,  and  after  dodg- 
ing through  a  few  back  yards  I  took  a  street  car  and  rode 
to  Richmond  where  I  found  a  nice,  little  station  right  handy 
for  a  hobo  to  make  a  train  from. 

I  am  getting  pretty  wary  of  bulls,  policemen  and  train 
crews.  I  feel  as  if  I  had  committed  a  crime  and  were  in 
hiding.  I  try  not  to  be  seen  by  any  one,  keeping  behind  lines 
of  box  cars  and  warehouses  whenever  I  can.  I  suppose  I 
am  committing  a  crime  and  I  am  sure  I  would  get  a  jail 
sentence  if  I  were  caught. 


Sacramento,  Cal. 
Feb.  19,  1914. 

I  have  progressed  again,  though  rather  slowly.  One 
can't  travel  very  fast  when  there  are  so  many  large  towns 
where  one  has  to  get  off  and  run  and  sneak  and  hide  to 
keep  from  getting  pinched. 

I  rode  to  Sacramento  on  a  baggage  car  where  there  were 
some  nice  rods  to  lie  on.  Here  I  had  to  run  for  it,  for  as 
soon  as  I  got  out  from  under  the  car  I  heard  some  one  yell, 
"Hey,  you!  what  are  you  doing  there?"  I  ran  and  thought 
I  saw  some  one  running  after  me,  so  I  sped  up,  dove  under 
a  car  to  the  other  side  and,  mingling  with  the  crowd,  walked 
leisurely  out  of  the  depot  and  up  town. 

I  stopped  at  the  corner  of  a  street  and  tried  to  decide 
what  to  do.  Should  I  go  back  and  try  to  make  a  train  out, 
or  get  a  room,  a  bath  and  a  good  rest  ?  I  was  cold  and  wet 
to  the  skin  and  my  teeth  were  chattering. 

An  old  man  came  up  to  me  and  said,  "Pretty  wet, 
ain't  it?" 

"Yes,"  said  I,  "pretty  wet." 

"Where  are  you  going?"  he  asked. 


8  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

"I  don't  know  yet.  I  am  a  stranger  here,  just  came  in 
on  the  train." 

"Here,"  he  said,  "I'll  give  you  a  tip.  Down  on  K  street 
there  is  a  saloon  that  stays  open  all  night  and  there  is  about 
two  hundred  men  sleeps  there  every  night,  but  you'd  better 
go  early  if  you  want  to  get  room  on  the  floor." 

I  thanked  him  for  the  information  and  made  up  my 
mind  to  go  down  there  later  on  to  see  what  the  place  was 
like.  First,  however,  I  went  to  a  cheap  hotel  and  got  a 
room.  The  clerk  in  the  office  looked  hard  at  me,  and  no 
wonder,  for  I  surely  looked  seedy,  just  come  from  under 
a  train  all  black  and  grimy.  But  I  wasn't  too  bad  for  a 
two-bit  room  and  I  got  my  overalls  off  and  went  to  the 
bathroom  and  had  a  thorough  cleaning  and  then  I  hurried 
down  to  get  my  supper.  I  had  not  eaten  all  day  and  to 
say  that  I  enjoyed  that  meal  would  not  half  tell  it.  Then 
I  took  in  a  five  cent  show  and  after  that  I  went  down  to  K 
street  and  found  the  saloon  the  old  timer  had  told  about,  I 
rolled  in,  hands  in  my  pockets  with  my  shoulders  hunched, 
trying  to  look  as  down  and  out  as  possible.  The  first  thing 
I  met  was  a  sickly,  nauseating  smell  of  stale  liquor.  Then 
I  saw  a  crowd  of  men  lined  up  against  the  bar,  four  deep. 
Most  of  them  were  drunk  and  there  was  an  awful  noise, 
singing,  swearing,  and  loud,  drunken  talk  and  laughter. 
The  light  was  poor  and  I  could  hardly  distinguish  the  fea- 
tures of  the  men.  I  didn't  see  anybody  sleeping  on  the 
floor  but  there  was  a  door  to  another  room,  and  in  there  I 
went.  It  was  dark  and  there  was  a  horrible  smell.  I  sat 
down  near  the  door  and  waited  till  my  eyes  were  used  to 
the  dark,  and  then  I  saw !  Men  lay  there,  and  some  women, 
huddled  on  the  floor  like  pigs  in  a  pen,  sleeping  on  the  dirty, 
damp,  stinking  floor.  Some  of  them  were  groaning,  some 
were  snoring,  and  one  old  man  near  me  had  the  hiccoughs 
so  badly  that  his  whole  ragged  body  jumped  in  a  way  that 
made  my  flesh  creep. 

This,  then,  is  the  bottom  of  the  pit,  as  Jack  London  called 
it!    I  noticed  that  most  of  the  men  looked  old  and  worn 


BEATING  MY  WAY  NORTH  9 

and  had  gray  or  white  hair.  This,  then,  is  the  end  of  the 
journey  of  the  working  stiff.  After  a  life  of  work,  going 
from  place  to  place,  ever  slaving  in  camps  and  factories,  in 
cities  and  on  farms,  to  be  thrown  on  the  scrap  heap  of  so- 
ciety. And  what  a  scrap  heap !  I  prefer  the  bullet  which 
man  gives  to  an  old,  worn  out  horse.  It  would  be  a  more 
merciful  death  than  this  low  life  in  the  slime. 

I  couldn't  stand  it  very  long  in  there  and  was  glad  to  get 
out  into  the  none  too  fresh  air  of  the  streets.  Ah,  for  the 
north  with  its  sweet,  cool,  balmy  air! 

I  dreamed  of  the  pit,  of  policemen  and  jails,  and  I  had 
a  poor  night  of  it,  but  I  have  learned  one  lesson  and  that  is 
to  keep  out  of  the  pit. 


Wheatland,  Cal. 
Feb.  20,  1914. 
It  seems  that  the  farther  I  go  from  Marian,  the  more 
she  is  in  my  thoughts.  Ever  since  I  was  in  Sacramento 
and  saw  the  poor  wretches  there  in  that  hole,  I  have  been 
wondering  what  is  to  become  of  me  and  if  I  will  wind  up 
in  the  pit  like  the  others.  What  can  keep  me  out  of  it? 
To  marry  and  settle  down  would  be  the  safest  way.  To 
settle  down  without  marrying  would  not  do  for  me,  for  I 
would  soon  get  lonesome  and  want  to  go  somewhere  else. 
Marian  must  come  and  be  my  mate  in  the  home  I  shall 
build.  But  I  am  drifting  farther  and  farther  away  from 
her  all  the  time.  There  are  many  other  men  in  the  world 
who  will  want  her  and  my  measly  letter  once  or  twice  a 
week  is  hardly  enough  to  keep  her  interest  in  me  alive. 
I  think  I  will  pull  the  leaves  out  of  my  diary  as  I  go  along 
and  send  them  to  her,  that  she  may  see  the  things  I  see 
and  thus  know  me  better. 


CHAPTER  III 

A  LCX3GING  DUE!. 

Dunsmuir,  Cal. 
Feb.  22,  1914. 

1MADE  a  passenger  train  from  Wheatland  to  Redding 
and  another  one  out  of  Redding,  riding  on  the  blind. 
It  was  a  pretty  cold  trip  with  rain  and  snow  and  the 
wind  beating  against  me.  I  am  glad  that  I  have  lots  of 
clothes  on,  for  I  am  up  in  the  mountains  now,  and  it  is 
snowing,  real  snow  like  that  we  have  in  Alaska.  I  went 
into  a  saloon  and  sat  down  by  a  great  big  heater.  Pretty 
soon  my  head  began  to  nod,  for  I  haven't  caught  that  much 
needed  sleep  yet.  No  sooner  had  I  dozed  off  than  the  bar- 
tender came  and  shook  me  up.  He  pointed  to  a  sign  over 
the  door  which  read,  'Hobos  get  warm  and  get  out.  This 
means  you." 

I  was  very  nice  and  warm  but  I  wasn't  ready  to  get  out 
so  I  went  over  to  the  bar  and  ordered  a  glass  of  buttermilk. 
The  bartender  grinned  sheepishly,  and  I  went  back  to  my 
chair  and  nodded  away.  Having  spent  my  nickel  I  was  a 
customer  and  not  a  hobo. 

I  am  very  anxious  to  reach  Portland  where  I  will  get  a 
letter  from  her  and  learn  if  she  cares  to  keep  hearing  from 
me.  If  she  cares,  I  shall  certainly  keep  it  up,  for  the  fact 
that  she  is  reading  this  diary  and  following  me  on  my  way, 
gives  me  added  zest  to  write. 


Roseburg,  Ore. 
Feb.  23,  1914. 
I  am  not  in  the  same  state  with  Marian  any  longer  and  a 
high  mountain  range  lies  between  us.    Still  she  is  very  near 
to  me. 


10 


A  LOGGING  DUEL  ii 

I  rode  the  whole  division  from  Dunsmuir  to  Ashland  on 
the  water  tank  of  the  locomotive  of  the  Shasta  Limited.  It 
was  very  cold  going  over  the  mountains  and,  as  my  clothes 
had  not  had  quite  time  to  dry  out  at  Dunsmuir,  they  froze 
as  stiff  as  a  board,  and  I  think  that  helped  a  good  deal  to 
keep  out  the  cold  wind.  I  was  very  sleepy  and  fell  asleep 
there  on  the  tank  several  times.  I  was  standing  up  on  the 
side  of  it  and  had  my  arm  around  the  hand  rail  and  my 
hand  in  my  pocket  making  a  sort  of  lock,  and  part  of  the 
time  I  was  frozen  to  the  tank  so  there  wasn't  much  danger 
of  falling  off.  Once,  however,  I  woke  up  suddenly  when 
the  train  crossed  a  deep  gulch  and  it  nearly  scared  the  wits 
out  of  me.  I  had  a  sensation  of  falling,  falling,  and  it  was 
quite  a  while  before  I  could  pull  myself  together  and  see 
things  in  the  right  perspective. 

I  promised  myself  a  good  night's  rest  when  I  got  across 
the  mountains  and  I  mean  to  have  it  before  I  leave  here. 


Disston,  Ore. 
Feb.  26,  1914. 

I  rode  on  the  rods  from  Roseburg,  intending  to  ride  all 
the  way  to  Eugene,  but  I  became  tired  and  hungry  and  got 
off  at  Cottage  Grove.  I  am  down  to  my  last  fifty  dollars, 
which  is  sewed  in  my  undershirt.  It  is  in  gold  and  repre- 
sents my  fare  from  Seattle  to  Haines.  Also,  it  is  my  emer- 
gency fund  in  case  I  should  get  sick  or  arrested.  I  didn't 
like  to  break  it  so  hunted  around  until  I  found  a  house 
where  I  could  chop  wood  for  a  meal. 

I  chopped  for  half  an  hour  or  so,  and  was  then  called  in 
to  supper.  They  were  very  pleasant  people,  Dr.  Kline,  his 
wife  and  daughter,  and  they  treated  me  very  cordially. 
After  the  meal  the  doctor  asked  me  if  I  would  go  to  work 
if  I  could  get  a  job  thereabouts. 

It  is  still  pretty  early  to  start  for  the  north  and  I  had 
figured  on  doing  a  few  days'  work  in  Seattle  before  leaving 
but  I  would  just  as  soon  work  now  as  then,  so  I  told  him 
that  I  was  willing  to  do  anything. 


12  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

"All  right,"  he  said,  "I'll  try  to  get  you  a  job."  He  went 
to  the  telephone  and  called  some  one  up.  "Can  you  buck 
logs?"  he  asked  over  his  shoulder. 

"Yes." 

"All  right,"  he  said,  hanging  up  the  receiver,  "you've 
got  a  job." 

He  insisted  on  lending  me  two  dollars  to  pay  for  my  bed 
and  for  the  ride  to  Disston  where  this  camp  is,  and  I  have 
already  worked  one-half  day.  Bucking  logs  is  hard  work 
for  a  man  who  hasn't  done  anything  for  some  time.  The 
army  surely  makes  a  man  soft.  I  am  afraid  the  other  men 
think  that  I  am  a  dub,  for  I  didn't  accomplish  much  this 
afternoon  except  to  cut  my  hand  on  the  saw  and  to  develop 
a  gresit  blister  in  my  palm. 


Disston,  Ore. 
Feb.  28,  1914. 

To-day  the  boss  came  along  and  gave  me  a  new  job.  I 
had  been  bucking  logs  and  had  not  been  very  good  at  it. 
It  is  a  long  time  since  I  have  done  any  hard  work,  and 
still  longer  since  I  have  worked  in  the  woods,  so,  although 
I  am  willing  enough,  I  am  not  a  first  class  man  at  all.  The 
boss  had  kept  an  eye  on  me  and  this  morning  he  told  me 
to  go  to  work  with  Big  Fred,  the  feller.  I  have  been  told 
by  some  of  the  other  men  that  nobody  can  work  with  Fred 
for  any  length  of  time  because  he  just  wears  a  man  out 
and  compels  any  one  to  quit  who  works  with  him.  When- 
ever the  boss  wants  to  get  rid  of  a  man  he  sends  him  out 
with  Fred  and  if  the  man  lasts  a  week  he  does  well.  How- 
ever, I  am  going  to  try  to  stick  it  out.  I  used  to  be  a  fairly 
good  worker,  and  my  three  years  in  the  army  have  given 
me  lots  of  reserve  strength  if  they  have  made  me  soft. 

We  worked  to-day,  Fred  and  I,  and  felled  six  large  trees, 
each  one  over  six  feet  in  diameter.  It  was  backbreaking 
work  for  me,  because  I  am  not  used  to  it,  but  one  thing 
cheered  me  up.  After  we  had  felled  a  big  pitchy  fir  this 
afternoon  in  which  the  saw  pulled  hard,  making  us  slave 


A  LOGGING  DUEL  13 

like  niggers  to  get  it  down,  I  was  so  exhausted  that  I  could 
hardly  stand  up  but  I  noticed  that  Fred  was  pretty  tired, 
too.  The  best  of  it  was  that  I  was  rested  before  he  was 
and  ready  to  tackle  the  next  tree.  Maybe  it  is  because  I  am 
younger  and  can  recuperate  faster,  I  don't  know,  but  I  do 
know  that  I  was  much  more  exhausted  than  Fred  was  when 
we  went  to  the  camp  at  quitting  time,  and  had  I  not  seen 
him  so  tired  there  in  the  woods  once,  I  would  have  quit 
this  evening  and  gone  on  my  way.  I  feel  now  as  if  I  were 
playing  a  game  and  that  it  would  be  an  act  of  cowardice  to 
quit.  It  is  a  month  before  I  can  do  anything  up  north  and 
I  have  hopes  of  putting  it  in  here  at  four  dollars  a  day. 


Disston,  Ore. 
March  3,  1914. 

Several  days  have  passed  and  I  haven't  written  anything 
in  my  diary.  I  believe  that  Fred  has  divined  my  intention 
to  stay  on  the  job  in  spite  of  him  and  his  driving.  He  has 
done  his  best  or  his  worst,  rather,  to  discourage  me  and  to 
work  me  to  death.  He  never  lets  up  from  the  time  we  go 
to  work  till  the  time  we  go  to  lunch  or  back  to  the  camp 
at  night.  He  is  determined  to  wear  me  out  and  I  am  not 
sure  that  he  will  not  succeed.  Nevertheless,  I  am  going  to 
give  him  a  run  for  his  money,  for  though  I  am  sore  all  over 
and  almost  dead  with  fatigue  every  night,  I  notice  that  he 
is  not  feeling  his  best,  either,  and  it  is  now  a  matter  of 
which  will  give  up  first. 

Fred  is  a  peculiar  man.  He  is  larger  than  I  and  about 
ten  years  older,  I  should  judge,  being  about  thirty-five.  He 
has  dark  brown  hair  and  flashing  black  eyes  and  his  should- 
ers are  slightly  stooped,  from  bending  over  a  saw  all  his 
life,  I  suppose.  I  don't  think  he  likes  me  for,  although  we 
work  all  alone  way  out  in  the  woods,  he  only  speaks 
to  tell  me  something  to  do.  We  fell  a  tree  and  then  we 
pick  up  the  tools  and  begin  to  fell  another  one  right  away, 
and  so  on  all  day  long.  We  felled  eighteen  trees  to-day  and 
I  was  so  tired  that  I  could  hardly  eat  my  supper.    I  am  too 


14  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

sore  in  the  back  and  arms  to  rest  well  and  my  hands  are 
full  of  cuts  from  the  saw  and  blisters  from  the  ax  handle. 
The  other  men  don't  speak  to  me.  I  suppose  they  have 
contempt  for  such  a  worthless  fellow.  I  feel  kind  of  lone- 
some and  I  doubt  if  I'll  have  the  guts  to  stay  here  very 
much  longer. 


Disston,  Ore. 
March  6,  1914. 

I  received  three  letters  from  Portland  to-day.  I  am  one 
of  the  happiest  men  in  the  world,  for  two  of  them  are  from 
Marian,  and  she  likes  my  diary  and  hopes  I  will  continue 
to  send  it  to  her  as  I  go  along.  Oh,  Marian,  you  cannot 
imagine  how  happy  I  am! 

I  had  decided  to  quit  in  the  morning  as  I  was  nearly  worn 
out  and  couldn't  see  the  use  of  slaving  on  just  because  that 
other  fool  was  crazy  enough  to  try  to  kill  himself,  but  I 
am  not  going  to  quit  now.  I  am  inspired  with  new  strength 
and  determination  and  I  am  going  to  finish  my  month  here 
and  it  is  not  going  to  kill  me,  either. 

Big  Fred  brought  a  new  sledge  hammer  to-day  instead 
of  the  old  one.  It  is  a  fourteen  pounder!  The  old  one 
weighed  eight  pounds  and  was  quite  heavy  enough  to  pack 
around  in  the  woods,  besides  the  two  long  felling  wedges, 
a  saw  and  the  springboard.  The  darned  hammer  is  so 
heavy  that  I  can't  strike  right  with  it  and  to-day,  when  we 
had  to  wedge  a  big  tree  over,  I  had  a  dickens  of  a  time  of  it. 
I  pounded  and  pounded,  hitting  the  tree  more  than  half 
the  time  instead  of  the  wedge  while  Fred  stood  by  and  said, 
"Hit  it!  hit  it!  why  don't  you  hit  it?" 

Finally  I  got  so  mad  at  my  own  inability  and  at  him  that 
I  stopped  and  glared  so  fiercely  at  him  that  he  stopped 
sneering  and  said,  "Let  me  give  you  a  spell,  Svend." 

It  was  the  first  kind  word  he  had  spoken  to  me  and  I 
ought  to  have  stepped  back  and  let  him  do  it  but  I  was  stub- 
bom  and  angry  and  merely  scowled  at  him,  beginning  to 


A  LOGGING  DUEL  15 

pound  again,  saying,  "That's  all  right,  you  handle  your  end 
of  it  and  I'll  take  care  of  mine  all  right." 

I  was  mad  all  day  and  just  worked  like  the  devil,  swear- 
ing at  everything  that  got  in  my  way,  making  hard  work  of 
some  things  that  would  have  been  easy,  had  I  not  "taken 
the  bull  by  the  wrong  tail,"  as  Dutch  says.  By  night  time 
I  was  so  worn  out  that  I  could  hardly  drag  myself  in  and 
I  was  going  to  quit  my  job  to-morrow  morning  but  now 
I  am  so  cheered  up  that  I  can  stick  it  out. 


Disston,  Ore. 
March  9,  1914. 

Received  another  letter  from  Marian  to-day  and  I  have 
been  lifted  to  the  heights  of  happiness.  Her  letters  are  like 
wine  to  my  soul.  They  fill  me  with  warmth.  I  am  going  to 
save  them  and  take  them  with  me  wherever  I  go. 

On  the  job  I  am  getting  along  better  every  day,  although 
my  relations  with  my  partner  are  not  a  bit  better  than  they 
were.  He  has  no  use  for  me  at  all  and  we  work  together 
all  day  long  without  saying  a  word.  I  know  what  to  do 
now  and  there's  no  need  for  him  to  tell  me,  so  we  just  go 
along  from  tree  to  tree  and,  because  I  am  stubborn  and  he 
is  mean,  we  make  the  work  as  hard  for  each  other  as  pos- 
sible. He  rides  his  end  of  the  saw,  that  is,  he  holds  it  tight 
to  the  cut,  making  it  pull  harder,  and  I  in  retaliation,  ride 
my  end.  We  never  stop  to  think  or  rest.  As  soon  as  we 
send  a  tree  crashing  to  the  ground,  he  picks  up  his  spring- 
board and  the  two  axes  and  starts  for  the  next  one,  and  I 
take  the  saw  and  the  rest  of  the  tools  and  follow,  and  so 
it  goes  all  day  long. 

I  am  getting  to  be  a  better  chopper  and  can  hit  twice  or 
three  times  in  the  same  cut  at  times. 

When  the  boss  came  out  to-day  and  saw  all  the  work  we 
had  done,  he  looked  with  interest  at  me  and  said  to  Fred, 
"He's  not  so  bad  after  all,  is  he?" 

But  Fred  looked  over  to  a  large  tree  and  said,  "We'll 
need  a  ten  foot  saw  for  that  one." 


i6  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

I  picked  up  my  ax  and  continued  chopping  the  under  cut 
we  had  been  working  on  when  the  boss  came  and  I  kept 
on  chopping  all  the  time  he  was  talking  to  Fred.  I  noticed 
that  he  watched  me  and  I  did  my  best  not  to  fall  in  his  opin- 
ion. I  am  happy  for  I  think  that  I  have  passed  the  crisis 
and  I  am  sure  I'll  get  stronger  from  now  on  and  be  able  to 
do  my  work  better  and  better.  If  I  could  only  become  as 
good  a  logger  as  Fred  I  should  be  proud  of  myself,  for  he 
surely  is  an  expert.  Even  if  he  doesn't  like  me,  I  have  to 
admit  that.  The  other  men  are  beginning  to  be  more 
friendly  toward  me  and  all  in  all  I  am  getting  along  all 
right. 


Disston,  Ore. 
March  15,  1914. 

Six  days  have  gone  by  and  I  have  not  written  at  all. 
When  nothing  happens  and  a  man  slaves  from  daylight  till 
dark,  it  is  not  easy  to  write  at  night.  But  to-day  I  received 
a  long  letter  from  her  in  which  she  told  me  of  her  school 
work  and  it  made  me  so  happy  that  I  had  to  write  her  a 
long  letter  and  do  my  diary  besides. 

We  have  been  working  like  beasts,  Fred  and  I,  and  I  am 
getting  more  and  more  efficient.  I  was  pretty  soft  at  first, 
but  my  muscles  are  hardening  and  I  grow  stronger  every 
day.  I  can  now  chop  quite  well  and  do  almost  half  the 
work  when  we  chop  an  undercut.  Fred  has  been  trying 
his  best  this  last  week  to  wear  me  out  and  with  every  day 
that  goes  by  he  gets  more  ugly  and  scowls  at  me  and  swears 
the  whole  day  long. 

To-day  we  had  a  tree  that  was  full  of  pitch.  The  pitch 
fairly  poured  out  of  the  cut  while  we  sawed.  We  cut  it 
very  close  to  the  ground  and  I  had  a  good  place  to  stand 
while  Fred  had  to  stand  in  a  difficult  and  tiresome  position. 
The  saw  pulled  hard  and  it  was  all  we  could  do  to  work  it 
but  Fred,  nevertheless,  kept  on  like  a  mad  man,  sawing, 
cursing  and  swearing.  He  had  been  drinking  the  night 
before  and  I  could  smell  the  whiskey  sweating  out  of  him 


A  LOGGING  DUEL  17 

and  I  think  his  being  in  a  poor  condition,  angered  him  all 
the  more.  He  succeeded  in  making  me  angry  so  I  set  my 
teeth  determined  to  pull  as  long  and  as  hard  as  he.  When 
the  tree  was  about  three  quarters  sawed  off,  his  foot  slipped 
from  the  room  on  which  he  was  standing,  sprawling  him  on 
the  ground.  I  looked  up  impatiently  to  see  what  was  the 
matter  and  our  eyes  met  squarely  for  the  first  time,  I  think, 
since  we  have  worked  together. 

"Look  here,"  he  said  angrily  but  almost  kindly,  too, 
"there's  no  need  of  your  working  so  hard.  You're  not  get- 
ting any  more  for  it,  no  matter  how  hard  you  work." 

"That's  all  right,"  said  I  like  the  stubborn  fool  I  am,  for 
I  might  have  made  matters  all  right  by  agreeing  with  him, 
"I  can  stand  it  if  you  can.    I  am  not  complaining." 

I  took  hold  of  my  end  of  the  saw  ready  to  begin  again 
and  with  a  scowl  and  an  oath  Fred  grabbed  his  and  we 
went  to  work  again  as  hard  as  possible.  I  am  sorry  now 
that  I  didn't  make  up  with  him.  It  would  have  made  if 
easier  for  both  of  us.  Besides,  it  is  not  pleasant  to  work 
with  an  angry  man,  especially  when  he  drinks. 


Disston,  Ore. 
March  20,  1914. 

I  am  really  and  honestly  sorry  that  I  did  not  make  up 
with  Fred  the  other  day  when  I  had  the  chance.  The  man 
is  actually  wearing  himself  out  and  I  am  to  blame  for  it. 
He  goes  to  the  saloon  every  night  and  gets  drunk,  hardly 
ever  reaching  the  camp  till  after  midnight,  then  he  works 
like  mad  all  day  long.  He  doesn't  speak  to  me  at  all  but 
just  goes  determinedly  on. 

The  boss  is  worrying  about  it,  too,  and  to-day  he  said 
to  Fred  that  we  were  doing  too  much  and  were  getting  too 
far  ahead  of  the  buckers. 

"You're  working  yourselves  out  of  a  job,"  he  said,  "take 
it  easy  for  a  while." 

But  Fred  only  worked  the  harder  after  he  had  gone. 

I  really  don't  know  what  to  do  about  it.    Maybe  I  ought 


i8  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

to  quit  and  thus  remove  the  cause  of  his  annoyance  but 
that  would  acknowledge  myself  defeated,  and  since  the 
men  are  all  on  to  what  we  are  doing  and  have  laid  bets  on 
us,  I  do  not  like  the  idea  of  having  them  think  that  Fred 
has  driven  me  off.  I  don't  like  to  have  Fred  quit  on  ac- 
count of  me,  either.  He  is  a  first  class  logger  and  he  has 
worked  here  for  several  years. 


Cottage  Grove,  Ore. 
March  30,  1914. 

I  am  on  my  way  north  again.  My  month  was  up  and 
things  came  to  a  climax  in  the  logging  camp.  Fred  kept 
getting  worse  and  worse.  No  man  can  stand  boozing  every 
night  and  working  hard  every  day.  One  thing  had  to  give 
way  for  the  other  and  Fred's  work  had  to  give  way  to  his 
carousing.  We  did  less  and  less  work  as  Fred  grew  weaker 
and  weaker.  He  didn't  lose  any  of  his  fierceness,  though, 
and  he  hated  me  just  as  cordially  when  he  was  sick  as  when 
he  was  well.  When  we  had  a  tree  down,  he  would  lie  down 
on  the  moss  and  sleep  while  I  chopped  the  next  undercut 
or  the  springboard  hole.  As  long  as  I  was  working  he  would 
sleep  on  but  when  I  stopped  he'd  soon  wake  up  and  come 
to  saw.  Day  before  yesterday  when  we  had  felled  a 
large,  eight  foot  spruce  and  had  sawed  the  cut  in  the  under- 
cut for  the  next  one,  Fred  went  to  sleep  while  I  chopped. 
Before  long  I  heard  some  one  coming  through  the  under- 
brush. It  was  the  boss.  I  couldn't  call  to  Fred,  the  boss 
was  too  close  but  I  hopped  down  from  my  springboard  and 
ran  to  where  he  lay. 

"Hey,  Fred,"  I  said  in  a  low  voice,  "the  boss  is  coming." 

He  looked  up  dazedly.  "I  don't  give  a  damn,"  he  swore, 
"keep  your  hands  off  of  me." 

The  boss  came  up  over  the  top  of  the  log.  "What's  the 
matter?"  he  asTced,  "sick?" 

Fred  sat  up.  "No,  I'm  not  sick,"  he  said.  "I'm  through. 
I  quit." 

He  looked  at  me  sullenly,  lumbered  to  his  feet  and  started 


A  LOGGING  DUEL  19 

for  the  camp,  muttering  something  about  damned  tender- 
feet. 

"I'll  send  another  man  out  with  you  to-morrow,"  the  boss 
said  to  me.    "I  guess  you  can  handle  the  job  all  right." 

But  I  said  that  my  time  was  up  and  that  I  was  quitting 
too.  He  said  that  was  a  great  note  and  wanted  to  know 
why  I  couldn't  stay.  He  said  that  I  was  all  right  and  could 
handle  the  job  of  head  feller  all  right  and  that  he  was  short 
of  men,  which  same  was  a  lie  for  I  knew  that  he  had  plenty 
and  that  there  were  men  asking  for  work  at  the  camp 
every  day.  I  told  him  that  I  was  on  my  way  north  and 
had  only  intended  to  stay  a  month  and  my  time  was  up. 

Fred  was  rolling  his  blanket  roll  when  I  came  into  the 
bunk  house.  He  looked  up  in  surprise  when  he  saw  that  I 
was  getting  ready  to  go  away  too. 

"Quitting?"  he  asked,  his  curiosity  getting  the  best  of 
him. 

"Yep,"  said  I,  "I've  had  enough  for  a  while." 

"Say,"  he  said,  coming  over  to  me,  "you're  a  hell  of  a 
good  worker." 

I  looked  up  and  smiled.  "Not  so  good  a  worker  as  you," 
I  said.  "If  you'd  left  the  booze  alone,  you'd  have  made  me 
quit  a  long  time  ago."  He  looked  kind  of  foolish,  so  I 
said,  "but  that's  all  right,  Fred,  it  was  a  game  and  we 
played  it  fair  and  square.  I  have  no  hard  feelings  if  you 
haven't." 

We  shook  hands  and  were  friends.  When  he  didn't 
scowl  he  was  quite  a  good-looking  fellow,  and  I  kind  of 
liked  him  anyway.  We  went  to  Cottage  Grove  together 
and  here  I  am  now,  waiting  for  a  freight  to  pull  out. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE    LAST    LAP — ALASKA 

Albany,  Ore. 
April  I,  1914. 

1AM  a  little  further  north.  I  made  a  freight  train  out 
of  Cottage  Grove  and  got  as  far  as  Junction  City.  An 
electric  car  line  runs  from  Junction  City  to  Portland 
and  I  walked  over  and  looked  around.  I  had  never  beaten 
an  electric  car  line  and  I  thought  it  might  be  fun  to  try  it. 
There  were  a  couple  of  freight  cars  about  to  pull  out  and 
I  sneaked  down  to  the  track  to  see  if  it  were  possible  to  ride 
underneath  one  of  them.  I  got  in  under  the  last  car. 
There  were  some  rods  that  were  quite  comfortable  to  lie 
on  and  I  thought  that  I  was  fixed  for  a  night's  ride.  The 
cars  started  out  and  I  got  the  surprise  of  my  life.  As  soon 
as  they  got  speed  up  the  rods  I  was  lying  on  began  to  jump 
up  and  down  and  swing  sideways.  It  was  all  I  could  do  to 
hold  on.  They  bumped  me,  Great  Scott!  how  they  bumped 
me  up  and  down.  My  head  especially  was  knocked  against 
the  bottom  of  the  car  till  I  couldn't  think  at  all.  Talk  about 
torture!  The  doggoned  car  shook  me  till  I  imagined  my 
insides  were  all  tearing  loose,  and  it  didn't  stop  before  it 
reached  Albany  thirty  miles  away,  with  me  nearly  dead. 

I  am  all  in  now.  My  neck  is  swollen  as  thick  as  my 
head  and  I  can  hardly  move  it.  I  have  bruises  all  over  my 
body  and  feel  as  though  I  had  gone  through  a  threshing 
machine.  No  more  riding  on  the  rods  of  electric  cars  for 
me,  I  swear  it!    I  had  to  get  a  room  here  and  rest  up. 


Seattle,  Wash. 
April  4,  1914. 
At  last  I  am  at  the  end  of  my  hoboing  trip.    From  now 

20 


THE  LAST  LAP— ALASKA  21 

on  I  will  pay  my  way.  I  feel  as  if  I  had  won  a  great  battle. 
With  train  crews,  detectives  and  policemen  all  trying  to 
bar  my  way,  I  have  broken  through  the  barriers  along  the 
hundreds  of  miles  without  any  trouble  to  speak  of  and 
now  I  am  here  in  Seattle  safe  and  free  and  sound  except 
for  a  few  bruises  that  do  not  amount  to  anything. 

Nothing  happened  that  was  very  important  from  Albany 
to  Vancouver.  I  rode  a  passenger  train  out  of  Vancouver 
on  the  rods.  It  had  turned  cold  and  there  was  a  frost  but 
the  cold  felt  good  to  me,  for  it  was  of  the  north,  and  though 
it  bit  into  my  'finger  tips  and  ears,  I  enjoyed  it.  But  that 
kind  of  enjoyment  can  only  last  for  a  limited  time  and  soon 
I  began  to  think  of  getting  off  at  the  next  station,  getting 
inside  of  the  train  and  paying  my  fare  for  the  rest  of  the 
way.  Yet  I  stayed.  Station  after  station  passed,  for  I 
figured  that  for  every  ten  miles  I  stayed  where  I  was  I 
made  thirty  cents.  A  few  miles  from  Tacoma  I  crawled  out 
and  from  the  way  the  brakeman  looked  at  me,  he  thought 
I  had  arrived  from  out  of  the  earth.  He  gasped  and  was 
going  to  grab  me  but  I  slipped  away  from  him  and  dove  into 
one  of  the  coaches  with  him  after  me. 

"What  are  you  doing  here?"  he  demanded  angrily  when 
he  came  to  the  chair  where  I  had  luxuriously  seated  my- 
self. 

"Well,  what  do  you  suppose?"  I  queried. 

"You  can't  ride  here,"  he  said,  then  added,  "unless  you 
pay." 

"What  makes  you  say  that?"  I  asked  in  mock  surprise. 
"Did  you  think  I  expected  to  ride  free  of  charge?" 

"You  came  from  under  the  train." 

"I  came  from  the  other  side  of  the  track,"  I  corrected. 
"Did  you  think  I  should  have  jumped  over  the  train,  in- 
stead?" 

"I'll  get  the  conductor,"  he  said  and  departed. 

An  old,  hard  faced  conductor  came  and  eyed  me  suspic- 
iously.   "Where  are  you  going?"  he  asked. 

"Tacoma,"  I  said,  holding  out  a  dollar. 


22  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

"Where  did  you  get  on  this  train  ?" 

"At  the  last  station.     I  work  there,"  I  lied. 

"What's  the  name  of  the  town?" 

"Why,  don't  you  know?"  and  I  gave  him  a  surprised 
look. 

"Yes— but " 

"Well,  why  do  you  ask,  then?  What  are  you  trying  to 
do,  kid  me?  Give  me  my  change  and  let  me  alone.  I  want 
to  rest."  I  had  to  be  rude  to  him  for  there  is  no  telling 
what  he  might  have  done,  had  I  let  him  be  sure  that  I  was 
a  hobo.  The  bluff  worked  all  right  and  he  left  me,  saying 
that  he  had  made  a  mistake,  and  asked  my  pardon.  I 
smiled  very  politely  to  him  and  assured  him  that  I  knew 
how  it  was,  and  that  was  the  end  of  it. 

In  Tacoma  I  took  the  car  to  Seattle,  where  I  got  a  room 
in  a  good  hotel,  had  a  bath  and  a  good  night's  sleep,  and 
am  now  in  fine  shape.  To-morrow  I  sail  for  the  northland 
cm  the  Mariposa.    Hurrah! 


On  board  the  S.  S.  Mariposa. 
April  6,  1914. 
The  north  is  coming  to  meet  me.  When  I  look  back  over 
the  years  I  have  spent  as  a  sailor,  going  from  land  to  land 
seeing  the  world  in  my  early  youth,  and  on  the  last  three 
years  that  I  spent  in  the  army  where  I  learned  to  curb  my 
wildness  and  to  stay  in  one  place,  I  realize  that  I  am  ready 
to  seek  the  place  for  my  home  and  to  build  it.  It  may  take 
some  time, — Rome  wasn't  built  in  a  day — but  while  I  am 
building,  I  shall  be  happy  in  the  knowledge  of  the  web  of 
love  and  comfort  that  I  am  spinning  around  her  and  me. 
The  sweet,  clean  air  tells  me  that  she  will  come  some  day 
to  breathe  it  with  me.  Ah,  Marian!  this  is  a  beautiful 
world!  I  am  sailing  through  clear,  blue,  deep  fiords  lined 
with  green  islands,  back  of  which  stand  giant,  white  moun- 
tains. The  sun  is  blazing  against  sparkling  snow  and 
greeny  glaciers.    It  all  makes  me  feel  glad  throughout  my 


THE  LAST  LAP— ALASKA  23 

whole  being,  for  I  love  it  so  and  it  reminds  me  so  much  of 
her.  Her  blue  eyes  and  the  sweet,  fresh  beauty  of  her 
would  fit  in  wonderfully  well  with  this  land  that  I  am  now 
entering.  She  was  not  made  for  the  smoky,  dusty  cities 
with  their  rushing,  fussy  people,  but  for  the  clean,  pure 
north.  Here,  only,  I  am  sure,  can  she  be  happy.  She  and 
I  were  made  for  this  country  and  we  will  be  here  together 
some  day — with  God's  help. 

I  wish  I  could  go  right  away  and  pick  out  the  place  for 
our  home,  but  that  can't  be  done.  I  must  first  seek  a  job 
to  make  a  stake  and  then  go  prospecting  for  our  home. 


Haines,  Alaska. 
April  8,  1914. 

Home  again!  My  heart  is  full  to  the  brim  with  being 
home  again.  I  thought  I  knew  how  much  I  loved  this  beau- 
tiful land  but  I  didn't  until  I  came  back  among  its  protec- 
ting mountains. 

Haines  is  a  small  town  on  a  bay  of  Lynn  Canal.  At  this 
time  of  the  year  its  scenery  is  least  beautiful,  for  the  snow 
is  just  melting  and  here  and  there  are  black  streaks  and 
spots  on  the  white  carpet.  Yet,  it  is  beautiful.  The  town 
itself  looks  as  if  a  giant  had  waded  up  the  fiord  and  thrown 
a  handful  of  colored  confetti  on  the  beach  and  in  among 
the  spruces.  The  houses  are  of  all  shapes  and  colors  and 
are  very  picturesque.  The  square  built  barracks  at  Fort 
Seward,  a  mile  or  so  from  the  town,  with  the  creamy,  yel- 
low buildings  shining  in  the  sun,  are  very  beautiful,  oh,  so 
very  beautiful ! 

I  lived  here  sixteen  months  as  a  soldier,  and  many  were 
the  happy  days  I  spent  at  the  fort  and  in  the  adjoining 
woods.  How  the  boys  greeted  me  when  I  landed !  They 
thought  I  had  come  back  to  reenlist  and  they  welcomed  me 
with  open  arms.  I  hadn't  known  that  I  had  so  many  friends 
among  them. 


24  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

Porcupine,  Alaska. 
April  II,  1914. 

Leaving  Haines,  I  mushed  up  the  Chilkat  River  behind  a 
dog  team  and  sleigh.  It  was  a  fine,  sunshiny  day;  the 
snow  had  frozen  hard  during  the  night  and  made  excellent 
sleighing.  How  the  sun  shone  on  the  sparkling,  white 
mountains !  The  dogs  trotted  along,  eager  to  run  and  snap- 
ping at  the  snow  as  they  went.  I  had  to  run  most  of  the 
time  to  keep  up  with  them.  It  was  glorious.  We  stopped 
at  Klukwan  over  night  and  the  next  day  at  noon  we  reached 
Porcupine  where  I  was  offered  a  job  right  away. 

This  is  a  gold  mine.  I  suppose  any  one  would  imagine 
me  down  in  a  rocky  pit,  digging  out  yellow  nuggets  with 
a  pick  and  shovel.  I  may  be  doing  this  in  a  month  or  two 
but  for  some  time  I'll  be  busy  shoveling  snow.  There  are 
about  six  feet  of  solid  snow  on  the  level  here  and  much 
more  where  it  has  drifted.  Everything  has  to  be  dug  out, 
houses,  tools,  flume  and  everything. 

The  mine  is  on  Porcupine  Creek,  a  glacier  creek  running 
through  a  long,  deep  gulch  with  steep  mountains  on  each 
side.  The  scenery  is  wonderful,  blue  sky  high  above  the 
rim  of  the  towering  mountains  and  the  spruce  and  hemlock 
covered  hillsides.  Even  ten  straight  hours  of  snow  shovel- 
ing cannot  kill  in  me  the  joyful  appreciation  of  this  won- 
derland. 


CHAPTER  V 


PROSPECTING A  STAMPEDE 


Porcupine,  Alaska. 
April  30,  1914. 

1AM  still  shoveling  snow.  It  seems  that  we  will  never 
get  to  work  mining.  Snow,  snow,  snow,  all  day  long. 
We  have  uncovered  all  sorts  of  things,  flumes,  sluice 
boxes,  pipe  lines,  water  ditches,  lumber  piles  and  machinery, 
and  yet  we  are  shoveling,  shoveling,  all  day  long  every  day ; 
but  everything  has  an  end,  and  I  suppose  some  day  they 
will  give  me  something  else  to  do.  I  know,  though,  that  as 
long  as  there  is  any  shoveling  to  do,  I'll  have  to  do  it,  for 
the  boss,  Mr.  Jackson,  thinks  I  am  a  pretty  good  shoveler 
and  knows  that  I  love  it,  so  he  keeps  me  at  it.  The  other 
day  he  gave  all  the  other  men  something  else  to  do  but  kept 
me  shoveling.  Then  he  came  over  and  sat  down  on  a  lum- 
ber pile  near  me  and  watched  me  work.  It  was  very  exas- 
perating and  I  scowled  as  I  shoveled. 

"You  are  a  pretty  good  shoveler,"  he  said. 

I  kept  on  working  as  I  replied  sarcastically,  "Yes,  it  is 
because  I  am  so  fond  of  it." 

He  didn't  say  anything  more  and  soon  walked  away  to 
where  the  other  men  worked  and  didn't  come  near  me 
again  that  day.  I  was  not  at  all  sorry,  though  I  do  wish  I 
hadn't  been  so  rude  about  it.  I  might  have  given  him  a  de- 
cent answer,  but  that  is  the  way  I  am,  always  "taking  the 
bull  by  the  wrong  tail,"  as  Dutch  said.  Mr.  Jackson  has 
kept  away  from  me  the  last  few  days.  I  hope  I  haven't 
hurt  his  feelings. 


26  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

Porcupine,  Alaska. 
May  14,  1914. 

Just  received  a  long  letter  from  her  this  evening.  I  am 
so  happy  that  I  could  jump  up  and  down  and  whoop. 
Gosh!  but  I  wish  I  could  quit  to-morrow.  I  haven't  been 
to  the  place  by  the  lake  yet,  but  when  I  get  ready  to  go 
and  seek  our  home,  I  shall  go  there  first.  But  I  have  to 
wait  a  while,  for  it  takes  money  to  live  and  three  dollars 
more  every  day  look  good  to  me.  I  have  already  earned  a 
hundred  dollars  and  that  it  not  so  bad. 

A  fellow  here  wants  me  to  go  prospecting  with  him. 
He  says  he  has  a  sure  thing  up  in  the  Rainy  Hollow  coun- 
try. He  says  he  can  go  up  there  and  make  a  couple  of 
thousand  dollars  in  a  season  with  a  lot  less  work  than  we 
do  here.  He,  Riley,  is  an  ex-soldier  from  the  same  regi- 
ment as  I  and  I  don't  really  see  how  he  knows  so  much 
about  prospecting.  Yet  he  is  so  sure  about  what  he  says 
that  I  think  perhaps  he  is  right.  He  may  have  been  pros- 
pecting before  he  got  into  the  army.  He  won't  give  me 
any  particulars  about  the  place  for  fear  I  will  go  there  my- 
self and  not  take  him  along  but  he  offers  me  a  half  interest 
in  the  proposition  for  going  in  with  him.  He  hasn't  any 
money  at  all  and  needs  some  one  with  a  few  dollars  to  buy 
grub. 

I  am  through  shoveling  snow  and  am  helping  the  carpen- 
ters build  a  flume.  Mr,  Jackson  only  comes  around  once 
a  day  and  he  doesn't  bother  me  at  all  any  more.  I  think 
I  like  him  and  am  sorry  I  was  rude  to  him. 


Porcupine,  Alaska. 
May  24,  1914. 
I  have  quit  my  job  and  am  going  prospecting.    Riley  and 
I  talked  about  it  every  night  till  I  became  so  interested 
that  I  wanted  to  go. 

Riley  is  a  medium  sized  man,  broad  shouldered  and  heavy 
in  the  hips.    He  has  jet  black  eyes,  for  he  is  a  quarter  breed 


PROSPECTING— A  STAMPEDE        27 

Choctaw  from  Oklahoma  and  he  seems  to  be  very  good 
natured  and  jolly,  though  rather  wild  and  reckless  in  his 
talk.  He  is  about  my  age  and  I  think  we  will  get  along  all 
right,  though  I'll  have  to  admit  that  he  is  rather  extrava- 
gant when  he  appraises  himself,  and  loud  self-esteem  is 
something  that  seldom  goes  hand  in  hand  with  the  ability 
that  Riley  claims  to  possess.  Still,  he  may  be  an  exception 
to  the  rule,  and  if  what  he  says  about  this  mine  is  true, 
I  guess  I  can  stand  him  for  a  season  or  two.  He  has  been 
discharged  from  the  army  only  two  months  and  is  still 
pretty  soft  but  he  claims  to  be  a  devil  of  a  worker  and  he 
is  built  well  enough  to  be  that. 

We  decided  to  go  last  night  and  this  morning  when  we 
didn't  go  to  work,  the  boss,  Mr.  Jackson,  came  and  asked 
what  was  the  matter.  I  told  him  I  was  going  to  quit  and 
to  my  surprise  he  asked  me  to  stay.  He  said  that  I  was  a 
good  man  and  he  would  be  glad  to  have  me  stay.  Naturally 
I  wondered  how  long  he  had  had  that  opinion  of  me,  so  I 
asked  him  why  he  had  always  watched  me  so  closely  when 
I  was  working,  as  if  he  were  afraid  I  would  miss  a  shovel- 
ful. He  laughed  and  said  that  he  had  liked  my  looks  from 
the  first  day  and  that  he  liked  to  watch  me  work  because 
I  did  such  a  good  job  with  such  ease.  Well,  the  man  may 
have  been  trying  to  kid  me  into  staying  or  he  may  have 
really  told  the  truth.  If  the  latter  is  true,  then  it  is  only 
another  case  of  my  jumping  at  the  wrong  conclusion. 

The  place  we  are  going  to  is  only  about  fifty  miles  from 
here,  so  Riley  says.  He  won't  tell  me  where  it  is  even  now 
when  I  have  spent  money  for  grub  and  tools.  "Up  be- 
hind the  Rainy  Hollow  country,"  he  says,  and  that  is  a 
pretty  vague  direction,  for  all  of  Alaska  lies  behind  the 
Rainy  Hollow.  We  shall  see  what  we  shall  see,  however. 
It  may  be  a  wild  goose  chase  but  if  it  is,  I  can  go  back  to 
work  here,  so  Jackson  says,  and  I  am  not  worrying.  If 
this  thing  turns  out  as  well  as  Riley  thinks  it  will,  we'll  both 
be  rich  by  the  end  of  the  summer. 


28  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

Pleasant  Camp,  Alaska. 
May  26,  1914. 

We  are  only  seven  miles  away  from  Porcupine  as  yet, 
and  though  I  am  anxious  to  get  after  the  gold,  I  don't  mind 
having  Riley  do  a  little  hunting  along  the  way.  He  doesn't 
seem  to  be  in  a  hurry  to  get  anywhere  and  it  rather  peeves 
me,  for  really  it  is  my  expedition ;  that  is,  I  have  furnished 
all  the  money,  and  from  to-day's  experiences  I  have  come  to 
doubt  my  partner's  ever  having  been  up  in  this  part  of  the 
country  before. 

This  morning  we  went  out  to  see  if  we  could  get  a  bear. 
The  woods  around  here  are  literally  full  of  bears  and  there 
are  signs  of  them  everywhere.  We  first  went  into  a  deep 
swamp  where  we  wandered  around  and  around  and  around, 
.following  signs  of  bear.  Riley  was  leading  and  I  noticed 
that  he  was  taking  us  around  in  a  ring,  for  we  passed  a 
certain  tree  at  least  three  times.  So  I  told  him  about  it 
but  he  didn't  believe  me  and  said  that  in  a  short  time 
we  would  be  out  of  the  swamp  and  up  on  a  ridge  that  led  to 
Jarvis  glacier.  He  said  that  he  had  been  up  in  this  part 
of  the  woods  and  knew  them  like  a  book.  So  I  followed 
him  around  another  half  hour  or  so  and  then  I  happened  to 
look  through  a  small  clear  space  and  saw  Pleasant  Camp 
about  a  mile  away. 

"Say,"  I  called  to  my  partner,  "where  are  we  going,  any- 
way?    I  want  to  know." 

"You'll  find  out  soon  enough,"  Riley  said  overbearingly. 
Then  on  an  after  thought  he  softened  and  said,  "We  are 
going  after  bear.  We'll  soon  be  out  of  this  swamp.  It's  a 
long  time  since  I  was  here  and  I  didn't  remember  how  big 
it  was,  but  the  ridge  is  right  ahead  of  us.  We'll  be  there 
in  just  a  little  while.     Come  on." 

"Hold  on,"  said  I.  "How  far  are  we  from  Pleasant 
Camp  now?" 

"About  ten  miles,  as  far  as  I  can  tell,"  Riley  answered 
impatiently.    "But  what  has  that  to  do  with  it?    Come  on, 


PROSPECTING— A  STAMPEDE        29 

we  are  wasting  time,"  and  he  started  off  again  but  I  went  at 
right  angles  to  him. 

After  a  little  bit,  when  he  noticed  that  I  wasn't  following 
him  and  the  underbrush  had  hidden  me,  he  stopped  and  I 
heard  him  yelling,  "Hello,  Svend,  hello,  where  are  you  ?" 

I  didn't  answer  for  a  moment  or  two  and  he  got  quite 
excited  and  yelled  at  the  top  of  his  voice.  I  was  only  a  few 
yards  from  him  and  when  I  stepped  out  of  the  brush  he 
began  to  bawl  me  out. 

"Damn  it!"  he  swore,  "I  thought  you  were  lost.  You 
want  to  be  careful.  It's  easy  to  get  lost  in  these  woods.  I 
don't  want  to  be  blamed  for  taking  you  out  and  getting  you 
lost.  You  stay  right  close  to  me.  I  have  been  in  these 
woods  before,"  and  so  on. 

I  finally  held  up  my  hand  and  told  him  to  follow  me  a 
while,  which  he  did,  for  I  had  started  off  through  the  woods 
and  Riley  wouldn't  have  me  lost  for  anything.  In  less  than 
ten  minutes  we  were  out  of  the  swamp  and  in  sight  of  the 
camp,  so  we  decided  to  go  in  and  have  dinner  before  doing 
any  more  hunting.  I  didn't  say  anything  to  Riley  about 
his  having  lost  his  way,  for  I  think  he  felt  cheap  enough  as 
it  was. 

After  dinner  we  struck  out  along  the  boundary  line  be- 
tween U.  S.  Alaska  and  Canada.  A  sixty-foot  slashing  runs 
all  the  way  along  the  line  and  we  followed  it,  going  most 
of  the  time  on  the  fallen  timber.  I  carried  a  shotgun  and 
Riley  a  30-40  rifle.  He  led  the  way,  for  he  had  been  there 
before  and  was  fond  of  leading,  anyway.  The  morning's 
experiences  didn't  seem  to  have  made  much  impression  on 
him.  Every  hundred  yards  there  was  a  stake  that  read  "U. 
S."  on  one  side  and  "Canada"  on  the  other.  They  were 
wood,  generally,  and  in  almost  every  one  of  them  marks 
of  bear  where  they  had  dug  their  claws  in  and  stretched 
themselves.  In  the  scratches  and  behind  slivers  were  black, 
brown  and  gray  hairs  where  they  had  rubbed  themselves 
against  the  roughly  hewn  posts.  Riley  was  telling  how  he 
and  a  Corporal  Dennis  had  killed  a  mother  bear  and  two 


30  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

cubs  right  along  there.  They  had  worn  snowshoes,  for  it 
had  been  in  the  fall  after  the  first  snow  came.  Riley  said 
that  the  bear  came  for  him  but  that  he  stood  his  ground 
and  pumped  shot  after  shot  into  her.  "She  died  with  her 
forepaws  in  my  snowshoes,"  he  said,  as  if  it  were  a  com- 
mon occurrence  to  him  to  have  something  thrilling  hap- 
pening. 

Riley  had  been  quiet  for  a  while.  We  were  crossing  a 
small  ravine  on  a  big  spruce  log  that  lay  across  it  like  a 
bridge.  Down  in  the  bottom  in  a  thicket  of  thorny  devil- 
clubs  lay  a  great  big,  brown  bear  fast  asleep.  Riley  saw  it 
first,  so  it  was  his  shot,  and  I  stopped  still  on  the  log  while 
he  flipped  his  gun  to  his  shoulder  and  with  incredible  speed 
pumped  five  cartridges  out  of  his  gun !  I  was  so  astonished 
that  I  didn't  think  of  shooting  or  I  might  have  got  the  beast 
with  my  shotgun.    I  was  close  enough  to  it. 

"I  got  him"  Riley  yelled  exultantly,  but  he  looked  quite 
pale  and  threw  his  gun  down  on  the  monster.  It  landed 
squarely  on  his  back  and  up  he  jumped,  made  a  swipe  at  the 
gun  with  his  paw,  and  then  rushed  down  the  ravine  with 
amazing  speed. 

I  was  watching  the  bear  and  didn't  see  Riley  fall  back- 
ward off  the  log  down  among  the  devil-clubs,  but  there  he 
was  where  the  bear  had  been,  all  full  of  stickers  and  swear- 
ing like  a  Turk. 

"After  him,  after  him,"  he  yelled  to  me.  "He's  wounded 
and  will  die  in  a  little  while." 

Of  course  I  didn't  go  after  the  bear  and  my  partner  be- 
came violently  angry  with  me.  I  showed  him  the  five  un- 
used cartridges  and  he  eyed  me  suspiciously  and  said  it 
was  a  poor  joke  to  pull  off  a  trick  like  that.  He  still  be- 
lieves that  in  some  mysterious  fashion  I  picked  up  the 
empty  shells  and  hid  them  away  to  make  him  think  that 
he  hadn't  fired. 

It  is  evening  now  and  we  are  back  in  Pleasant  Camp. 
Riley  is  over  at  an  old  trapper's  cabin,  telling  his  adven- 
tures and  woes.    I  am  beginning  to  lose  faith  in  the  man. 


PROSPECTING—A  STAMPEDE        31 

I  am  sitting  under  a  great  big  spruce  and  the  sun  has 
just  glided  behind  a  mountain  to  the  northwest.  It  is  about 
ten  o'clock  and  time  to  go  to  sleep. 


The  headwaters  of  the  Klihinah. 
May  28,  1 9 14. 

We  are  only  about  ten  miles  from  Pleasant  Camp,  for 
Riley  is  in  no  hurry  and  he  considers  himself  the  boss  of 
this  expedition. 

He  doesn't  seem  to  know  the  country  and  I  am  begin- 
ning to  suspect  that  he  doesn't  know  a  thing  about  pros- 
pecting and  that  this  good  thing  we  are  heading  for  is 
largely  imagination.  I  am  sure  he  had  never  panned  gold 
in  his  life  before  yesterday  afternoon. 

A  young  Englishman,  who  calls  himself  Roberts,  came 
along  yesterday  and  attached  himself  to  our  party.  He 
and  Riley  became  great  chums  right  away  and  Riley  asked 
him  to  go  with  us  without  consulting  me  about  it. 

We  made  camp  on  the  bank  of  the  Klihinah  where  a  clear 
creek  tumbles  down  the  mountainside  through  a  deep,  wind- 
ing canyon.  While  I  cut  spruce  boughs  for  our  bed,  Riley 
and  Roberts  went  down  to  the  mouth  of  the  creek  to  pros- 
pect. When  I  had  the  boughs  all  laid  I  went  down  to  see 
what  they  were  doing  and  found  them  lying  flat  on  their 
bellies,  grabbing  for  mica  that  was  floating  down  over  the 
bottom  of  the  creek.  They  both  thought  it  was  gold.  I 
laughed  at  them  and  Riley  got  very  angry,  but  I  didn't  want 
to  start  a  racket,  so  I  said  nothing  and  walked  down  the 
bank  of  the  Klihinah  to  think  it  over.  If  Riley  thought 
that  those  flakes  of  mica  were  gold,  then  he  was  an  abso- 
lute greenhorn  as  to  prospecting  and  had  been  stringing  me 
along  all  the  time.  I  wondered  if  I  couldn't  find  a  bit  of 
gold-dust  just  to  show  the  fellows  what  it  looked  like,  so 
I  went  over  to  our  camp,  got  a  gold  pan  and  walked  down 
to  where  the  river  runs  through  a  box  canyon.  I  dug  the 
dirt  out  of  a  couple  of  crevices  and  then  panned  it  out  in 
«n  eddy  of  the  stream.    As  the  gravel  and  sand  became  less 


32  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

and  less,  I  fancied  I  saw  a  speck  of  yellow  now  and  then 
along  the  rim  of  the  dirt,  and  sure  enough  when  I  got  it 
concentrated  down  to  black  sand,  there  were  quite  a  few 
small,  yellow  specks  that  were  gold  without  a  doubt.  I  was 
quite  excited  about  it  but  at  the  same  time  I  realized  that 
it  was  very  fine  dust  and  that  it  would  take  a  lot  of  it  to 
make  a  dollar.  But  it  was  gold,  anyway,  and  where  there 
was  a  little  there  might  be  more.  I  dug  out  a  few  more 
crevices  and  after  an  hour  or  so  of  panning  I  had  about  ten 
cent's  worth  of  gold  in  the  pan.  This  I  took  up  to  the  camp 
about  a  mile  away.  My  pardner  and  Roberts  were  there 
and  I  asked  Riley  what  kind  of  luck  he  had  had. 

"None,"  he  said.  "There's  nothing  here.  The  gold  is  so 
fine  it  floats.    Can't  catch  it." 

"Huh,"  said  I,  "that's  pretty  fine,  all  right.  Want  to  see 
some  gold  ?" 

They  both  started  but  I  could  tell  by  the  look  on  my  pard- 
ner's  face  that  he  was  sure  that  what  I  had  wasn't  gold. 
Who  was  I  to  be  able  to  find  gold  when  he  couldn't?  I 
suppose  anybody  has  contempt  for  a  fellow  he  plays  for  a 
sucker.  I  took  my  pan  and  put  a  little  water  in  it,  rotating 
it  a  bit  to  concentrate  the  gold  where  it  would  show  up  the 
best.  They  craned  their  necks  over  the  pan  and  Riley 
snatched  it  away  from  me,  took  out  his  magnifying  glass, 
inspected  it  closely  and  then  said  with  great  authority, 
"That's  gold,  where  did  you  get  it  ?" 

"Oh,  I  got  it  in  the  ground,"  I  said,  "and  there's  a  lot 
more  there." 

"Where?  where  in  the  ground,  I  asked  you?"  cried  my 
partner. 

"Why  do  you  want  to  know  now  ?"  I  asked.  "Won't  to- 
morrow be  soon  enough?" 

"You  won't  tell  me,"  he  yelled,  "and  I  thought  you  was 
my  partner.  Come  on,  Roberts,  we'll  go, and  take  a  look  at 
the  place.  I  know  where  it  is  all  right."  They  disappeared 
in  the  brush,  going  down  the  river  and  I  heard  Roberts 


PROSPECTING— A  STAMPEDE        33 

ask,  "How  much  was  there  in  that  pan,  pal?"  and  Riley 
answered  with  conviction,  "Ten  dollars,  if  a  cent." 

They  have  been  gone  over  two  hours  and  it  has  given  me 
a  chance  to  write  my  diary.  It  is  my  chief  companion  these 
days.  I  didn't  even  have  time  to  think  of  Marian  to-day  but 
I  love  her  just  the  same. 


Klihinah, 
May  29,  1 914. 

This  morning  we  had  a  rupture  in  camp.  I  didn't  like 
this  fellow  Roberts  in  the  first  place — he's  too  fresh  and  too 
condescending  in  his  manner  for  a  person  who  is  not  self- 
supporting,  so  last  night  I  decided  that  he  had  been  here 
long  enough.  This  morning  I  got  up  early  and  while  the 
others  were  asleep  I  took  all  the  guns  out  and  cached  them 
in  the  brush,  except  Robert's  .22  rifle  and  my  own  .44  Colts 
automatic,  which  latter  I  strapped  on  my  hip.  Then  I 
cooked  a  goodly  breakfast  of  mush  and  hot  cakes  and 
roused  the  others.  While  they  were  eating  I  said  to  Rob- 
erts, "This  is  your  last  meal  with  us,  Roberts.  You'll  have 
to  go  after  breakfast.  Two  is  company  here  but  three 
is  a  crowd." 

"What  the  hell  do  you  mean  ?"  they  asked  simultaneously, 
staring  at  me. 

"I  mean  just  what  I  say,"  I  replied,  and  turning  to  face 
Riley  squarely  I  said,  "Roberts  will  have  to  go.  I  have  stood 
enough  from  him  and  you.  Since  he's  been  here,  you 
haven't  had  a  decent  word  for  me  and  that  in  spite  of  the 
fact  that  you  are  both  eating  at  my  table.  It's  got  to  stop 
and  Roberts  is  going  after  breakfast." 

I  had  guessed  right,  for  Riley  was  looking  around  for 
his  rifle  and  I  was  glad  it  wasn't  there.  Then  he  tried 
to  bluff  me  but  when  he  saw  that  I  was  not  scared,  he 
backed  out  and  just  talked  and  the  end  of  it  was  that 
Roberts  went  back  down  the  river.  He  no  doubt  thought 
it  was  because  I  had  struck  it  rich  somewhere  and  didn't 
want  him  in  on  it,  for  although  he  started  down  the  river 


34  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

all  right,  we  saw  him  hanging  around  the  woods  all  day 
watching  us. 

I  had  a  heart  to  heart  talk  with  Riley  too  this  morning 
and  I  made  him  understand  that  if  he  didn't  quit  being  so 
overbearing  and  begin  to  act  like  a  partner  and  not  a 
boss,  I'd  take  my  outfit  and  go  back  to  Porcupine  and 
work  for  wages. 

"But  what  of  the  strike  you  have  made?"  he  asked,  and 
I  told  him  that  it  could  wait  all  right. 

He,  in  turn,  said  that  he  had  not  meant  to  abuse  me, 
that  that  was  just  the  way  he  always  was,  and  I  advised 
him  to  change  his  way  and  become  more  accommodating. 

I  don't  think  that  he  would  have  been  so  quiet  about  it 
had  he  known  where  I  had  found  the  gold  and  where  his 
gun  was,  for  I  think  Riley  is  a  bit  of  a  desperado  and 
would  like  to  do  something  like  holding  a  fellow  up. 

Later  in  the  day  when  we  had  become  good  friends  again 
I  showed  him  where  I  had  found  the  gold  and  how  a  man 
can  get  gold  dust  out  of  crevices,  and  when  he  wanted  to 
stake  a  claim  right  in  the  box  canyon,  I  explained  to  him 
that  it  was  better  to  trace  the  gold  to  get  nearer  to  its 
source.  Evidently  Riley  has  never  prospected  for  placer 
gold  for  he  had  no  suggestions  to  offer  and  was  quite 
willing  to  do  as  I  suggested.  So,  during  the  afternoon, 
we  worked  up  stream,  panning  here  and  there.  There  was 
gold  in  the  crevices  and  in  the  gravel  banks  above  the  can- 
yon. Not  much  but  a  little  everywhere.  I  decided  that 
we  had  discovered  a  large  body  of  low  grade  placer  ground 
with  a  prospect  for  anything,  and  at  the  mouth  of  the  small 
creek  we  were  camped  on  I  staked  "Discovery"  and  Riley 
staked  "No.  One  Below."  Of  course  we  are  partners  and 
he  has  half  interest  in  my  claim  and  I  in  his.  It  may  not 
amount  to  anything  but  we'll  give  it  a  try  for  it  might  pay. 

Roberts  has  built  a  campfire  about  a  mile  and  a  half 
below  our  claims.  I  can  see  the  smoke  of  it  through  the 
tree  tops. 


PROSPECTING— A  STAMPEDE        35 

Klihinah, 
June  I,  1914. 

Riley  and  I  went  to  Pleasant  Camp  yesterday.  On  the 
way  we  met  Roberts  and  a  boy  named  Carr,  with  whom 
he  has  joined  forces.  They  are  going  to  stake  near  us  they 
said. 

In  Pleasant  Camp  we  met  some  of  my  friends  out  on 
a  camping  trip  with  some  of  their  friends.  The  mis- 
sionary and  the  school  teacher  of  Klukwan  were  with  them 
and.  I  told  them  confidentially  that  my  partner  and  I  had 
staked,  and  that,  although  we  only  had  a  prospect  so  far, 
there  was  a  good  chance  of  our  finding  something  better. 
If  they  cared  to  take  a  chance  and  spend  the  few  dollars 
that  it  took  to  record  a  claim,  I  said  I  would  help  them 
do  the  staking.  They  all  came  out  with  us,  eight  of  them, 
and  we  were  very  busy  that  evening  staking  claims  and 
chopping  lines.  My  friends  are  enthusiastic  about  it,  and 
as  some  of  them  know  a  good  deal  about  placer  gold,  I  am 
beginning  to  think  that  we  have  struck  it  rich. 

This  morning  I  was  standing  by  my  prospect  hole  holding 
a  small  skin  bag  full  of  black  sand  in  my  hand  talking  to  the 
missionary.  We  were  discussing  some  black  sand  with 
platinum  in  it  that  was  valued  at  eighteen  thousand  dollars 
a  ton,  when  Roberts  and  Carr  came  past.  As  they  dis- 
appeared I  heard  Roberts  say  excitedly,  "He's  got  eighteen 
thousand  dollars  already." 

I  don't  know  where  Roberts  and  Carr  have  staked.  My 
friends  have  staked  above  and  below  "Discovery"  and  we 
have  seen  no  sign  of  their  stakes  anywhere.  To-night 
some  of  the  men  are  going  to  Haines,  and  I  have  sent  word 
to  my  friends  to  come  up  if  they  care  to  take  the  chance 
of  losing  a  few  dollars.  There's  going  to  be  a  lot  of  money 
made  on  this  strike  if  it  turns  out  to  be  good.  And  if  it 
does,  if  I  can  make  a  stake  this  summer,  I  can  go  down 
and  ask  Marian  to  come  up  to  God's  country  with  me. 
But  I  am  not  so  confident  as  the  others  that  we'll  get  rich. 
Man  seldom  gets  anything  without  working  for  it. 


CHAPTER  VI 


A  POOR  PARDNER 


Klihinah, 
June  lo,  1914. 

THERE  is  a  stampede  on  and  everybody  in  the  country 
is  here  or  on  the  way.  I  sent  word  to  some  of  my 
friends  and  they  came  right  away  but  that  wasn't 
what  made  the  stampede.  Roberts  and  Carr  got  excited  and 
told  about  the  strike  in  Glacier  Camp  and  Porcupine,  saying 
that  I  had  already  taken  out  eighteen  thousand  dollars  and 
that  they  had  seen  some  of  the  gold.  I  had  a  big  poke 
full  when  they  last  saw  me,  they  said.  Then  they  went 
on  to  spread  the  news  in  Klukwan  and  Haines. 

The  boys  in  the  mining  camps  took  no  stock  in  it  at  first, 
for  they  knew  that  I  had  been  gone  only  a  few  days,  but 
when  they  saw  some  of  my  friends  secretly  preparing  to  go, 
they,  too,  got  the  fever  and  every  man  in  the  mining  camps 
of  that  locality  quit  his  job  and  rushed  up  the  river  pell 
mell  for  the  diggings,  seventeen  miles  away.  They  came  in 
bunches,  rushing  up  to  the  fast  growing  camp  and  inquiring 
where  they  could  stake.  Two  men  had  made  a  hurried  map 
of  the  Klihinah  and  vicinity  and  the  claims  already  staked 
and  they  charged  five  dollars  per  man  to  show  him  where 
to  stake.    They  made  a  lot  of  money,  those  two  fellows. 

For  the  next  few  days  people  just  poured  from  down  the 
river.  When  they  reached  Haines,  Roberts  and  Carr  had 
it  that  I  had  eighteen  thousand  dollars  in  nuggets  and  that 
they  had  both  seen  them.  The  telephones  began  to  ring 
and  at  i  A.  M.  three-fourths  of  the  population  was  on  the 
way,  some  on  horse,  some  with  wagons,  but  most  of  them 
on  foot.     Of  course  it  is  fifty-seven  miles  up  here  and 


A  POOR  PARDNER  37 

many  of  them  turned  back  before  they  had  gone  very  far, 
but  enough  reached  here  to  stake  the  whole  river  for 
several  miles  up  and  down.  Nobody  has  found  any  gold 
to  speak  of  yet  and  there  is  a  lot  of  disappointment  going 
around.  Some  of  them  thought  that  they  could  kick  the 
nuggets  out  of  the  grass  roots  anywhere  up  here  and  they 
are  pretty  sore.  I  heard  a  man  who  was  coming  through 
with  a  pack  train  say  that  it  was  a  shame  to  get  all  those 
people  up  there  that  way  and  he  even  went  so  far  as  to  hint 
that  fellows  like  me  who  started  stampedes  ought  to  be 
put  behind  the  bars. 

There  are  all  sorts  of  types  here,  from  mere  boys  to 
old,  tried  prospectors,  but  most  of  the  men  are  from  the 
mining  camps  in  the  Porcupine  district.  The  people  from 
town  come,  stake  their  claims,  growl  about  it  and  go  back 
down  again,  but  the  men  from  the  camps  have  started  to 
dig  in  several  places.  They  have  formed  in  groups  of 
three  or  four  and  are  digging  in  from  the  banks  of  the 
river.  One  man  has  found  a  two  dollar  nugget  and  another 
has  found  a  ten  cent  piece.  One  old  fellow,  a  trapper, 
found  a  small  pocket,  and  took  out  twenty  dollars  in  dust 
and  very  small  pieces.  These  men  that  are  digging  are  not 
kicking  at  all.  It  is  the  ones  who  do  nothing  that  have  so 
much  fault  to  find  with  the  camp. 

The  worst  of  it  is  that  they  are  blaming  me  for  their 
misfortunes.  The  good  Lord  knows  that  I  didn't  intend 
to  start  a  stampede.  However,  I  have  a  good  prospect  here 
and  everything  may  turn  out  well  for  me  after  all  if  I 
keep  a-digging.  I  have  been  working  on  a  cross  cut  from 
the  bank  of  the  river  up  a  small  bench.  My  object  is  to 
find  an  old  channel  of  the  river,  which  I  am  sure  is  up 
there  on  the  bench.  I  pan  a  little  now  and  then  as  I  go 
along  and  have  found  gold  everywhere,  but  not  enough  to 
make  it  pay  working  by  hand. 

Riley  doesn't  help  me.  He's  not  the  working  kind.  He 
goes  around  among  the  idlers  and  brags  about  how  we  dis- 
covered the  diggings.     He  is  a  poor  partner  to  have  and 


38  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

I  wish  I  could  get  rid  of  him.  To-morrow  I  must  go  down 
to  Klukwan  for  supplies  and  I'll  have  to  start  early,  so 
I'd  better  get  some  sleep. 


Klihinah, 
June  15,  1914. 

Many  things  have  happened  the  last  few  days  and  I  am 
a  little  poorer  for  them.  When  I  reached  Porcupine  on 
the  way  to  Klukwan,  I  met  Mr.  Jackson.  He  seemed  very 
glad  to  see  me,  but  he  said  that  the  superintendent  was  as 
sore  as  a  boil  at  me  for  starting  the  stampede  and  taking 
all  the  men  away  from  his  camp.  I  felt  bad  about  this  so 
I  explained  how  it  had  happened  and  Jackson  believed 
me  all  right  but  he  had  his  doubts  about  changing  the 
super's  mind  about  it. 

In  Klukwan  they  were  very  good  to  me  and  I  bought  a 
hundred  dollar's  worth  of  grub  and  tools,  though  it  took 
my  very  last  cent.  Then  I  borrowed  their  team  and  wagon 
and  started  for  the  diggings  early  in  the  morning.  An 
Indian  went  with  me  to  take  the  team  back  home. 

We  had  no  trouble  until  we  came  to  the  Jarvis  river, 
which  we  had  to  cross.  It  had  been  a  hot  day  and  the 
glacier-fed  river  was  high  and  swift.  There's  a  foot  bridge 
across  and  I  should  have  carried  the  supplies  over  it  and 
then  pulled  the  wagon  over  empty,  but  it  was  getting  late 
and  Pleasant  Camp,  where  I  intended  to  stay  over  night, 
was  only  a  mile  away  so  I  didn't  like  the  idea  of  unloading 
and  loading  again.  I  took  a  chance  and  drove  off  into  the 
swiftly  running  glacier  stream.  The  horses  had  crossed 
this  place  several  times  before  and  were  willing  enough, 
but  the  water  was  deeper  that  I  had  expected  and  it  reached 
up  to  the  horses'  bellies.  In  the  middle  we  struck  a  rock 
and  the  wagon  came  to  a  standstill  crossways  in  the  river, 
the  water  pushing  against  the  box  and  splashing  in  over 
the  top.  I  used  the  whip  and  then  everything  happened. 
The  horses  lunged,  the  doubletree  snapf)ed  in  the  middle, 
the  horses  jumped  ahead,  I  tried  to  hold  them  and  was 


A  POOR  PARDNER  39 

dragged  off  the  seat  and  through  the  river  to  the  opposite 
bank.  Joe,  the  Indian,  jumped  off  when  the  current  turned 
the  wagon  and  crawled  out  on  the  bank  a  little  below  me. 
The  wagon  rolled  over  and  over,  going  gently  down  the 
river  spilling  the  entire  load.  Then  the  king  bolt  came  out 
and  it  parted  in  the  middle,  the  hind  part  being  washed 
up  on  one  side  of  the  river  and  the  front  part  on  the  other, 
while  the  wagon  box  floated  down  half  a  mile  and  stranded 
on  a  gravel  bar  in  the  middle  of  the  river.  Most  of  the  load 
was  gone  and  the  little  of  it  I  found  was  practically  ruined. 
The  Indian  and  I  got  what  things  we  could  find  together, 
and,  with  the  help  of  the  horses  set  up  the  wagon  again, 
using  a  piece  of  wire  in  place  of  the  king  bolt.  Then  we 
drove  wearily  up  to  Pleasant  Camp, 

The  next  morning  I  sent  the  Indian  back  to  Klukwan 
with  a  letter  telling  how  it  had  all  happened,  saying  that  I 
would  pay  for  the  damages  when  I  could.  I  had  expected 
to  sell  some  of  the  grub  to  several  parties  in  our  camp 
and  they  were  disappointed  and  left  the  place,  going  down 
for  good.  Riley  was  very  angry  and  disgusted  with  me 
and  didn't  cease  telling  me  what  I  should  have  done  till  I 
shook  my  fist  in  his  face  and  told  him  to  shut  up  or  I 
would  smash  it  for  him. 

The  superintendent  from  Porcupine  came  up  and  looked 
the  ground  over.  Almost  everybody  in  the  camp  came  to 
hear  his  opinion  and  he,  after  a  careful  survey  of  the 
ground  and  the  formation  thereabouts,  pronounced  that 
there  was  nothing  there  but  a  little  native  scattered  gold. 
He  said  they  had  known  about  it  for  a  long  time  and  if 
it  had  been  worth  while  to  mine,  it  would  have  been  taken 
up  and  worked  long  ago.  "It'll  never  pay,"  he  ended. 
That  ended  the  stampede  and  most  of  the  men  went  down 
to  Haines  or  to  work  in  the  mines. 

Before  the  superintendent  started  away,  I  saw  him  talk- 
ing to  Riley  and  wondered  what  on  earth  they  could  be 
talking  about,  for  while  Riley  had  worked  in  Porcupine, 
the  super  had  but  little  use  for  the  lazy,  worthless  fellow. 


40  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

Yet  I  think  I  found  out  the  next  morning,  for  Riley  carried 
his  gun  around  all  the  time  and  growled  and  kicked  con- 
tinually about  this  and  that.  During  the  forenoon  he  was 
over  on  his  claim  measuring  it  by  pacing.  Then  at  dinner 
time  he  came  in  particularly  foul-mouthed  and  abusive.  I 
had  cheated  him  he  swore,  cheated  him  out  of  twenty  feet 
of  ground  and  squeezed  one  of  my  friends  in  on  him. 
This  exasperated  me  beyond  measure,  for  I  knew  he  was 
wrong.  We  had  some  sizzling  hot  words  on  the  subject 
that  brought  onlookers  from  several  nearby  camps.  Riley 
turned  ashly  pale  and  ran  for  his  rifle  leaning  against  a 
tree. 

"You'll  beat  me  up,  will  you?"  he  screamed,  snatching 
the  gun  and  blazing  away  from  the  hip.  Bang,  bang,  twice 
he  shot,  and  then  the  chamber  blocked.  It  was  a  wonder 
that  he  missed  me.  I  was  a  little  scared,  but  I  had  been 
so  angry  that  the  chief  effect  of  this  was  to  calm  me  down. 
I  could  have  rushed  him  while  the  gun  was  jammed.  Maybe 
I  didn't  do  it  because  I  was  afraid  to,  but  I  hardly  think 
that  was  the  reason.  My  better  judgment  told  me  to 
take  it  easy. 

"Put  your  gun  away,"  I  said  as  calmly  as  I  could,  "and 
we'll  go  and  measure  your  claim." 

He  was  quiet  now  and  very  pale  and  because  he  was 
afraid  that  I  would  take  his  gun  away,  he  backed  out  of 
reach.  I  got  a  tape  line  and  with  one  of  the  bystanders 
measured  Riley's  claim  while  he  sat  with  his  rifle  across 
his  knees  watching  us  with  a  satisfied  expression  on  his 
face.  He  was  making  me  measure  his  claim  at  the  point 
of  a  gun. 

Of  course  I  was  right  as  to  the  measurements.  After  the 
thing  was  all  over,  Riley  went  off  up  the  river  somewhere. 
When  he  came  back,  he  rolled  up  his  blankets  and  beat  it 
down  the  river,  saying  nothing  to  any  one.  That  was 
yesterday.  I  am  alone  now  and  am  spending  all  the  time 
possible  on  the  hole.  It  seems  that  the  farther  I  get  from 
the  brink  of  the  river,  the  less  gold  I  find.    If  I  can  get 


A  POOR  PARDNER  41 

some  boards  to  make  a  sluice  box,  I  think  I'll  try  running 
some  gravel  through  and  see  how  much  I  get  that  way. 


Klihinah, 
June  20,  1 914. 

Things  are  about  the  same  as  when  I  last  wrote.  I  have 
been  sluicing  for  the  last  two  days.  There  is  a  lot  of  slimy 
clay  in  the  gravel  and  the  gold  is  hard  to  catch  because  it 
hangs  in  the  clay  and  goes  out  through  the  box  with  the 
rest  of  the  tailings  and  I  only  get  a  little  of  it.  I  found 
one  piece  worth  about  fifty  cents  to-day  and  two  worth 
about  eight  cents  and  ten  cents  yesterday,  so  there  is  no 
doubt  that  the  gold  is  here  if  I  can  only  save  it.  Who 
knows  how  many  pieces  have  rolled  down  the  box,  sticking 
to  a  lump  of  clay  ?  I  clean  up  every  evening  and,  from  the 
estimates  of  the  miners  here,  I  made  about  three  dollars  the 
first  day  and  two  the  second.  Most  of  the  men  have  gone 
away  and  the  camp  looks  deserted,  but  it  is  a  relief  to 
have  no  bickering  and  quarreling. 

A  Swede  came  up  yesterday,  sent  by  one  of  my  friends, 
to  tell  me  that  the  super  at  Porcupine  might  try  to  get  me 
into  trouble.  My  friend  had  overheard  a  discussion 
between  the  Porcupine  superintendent  and  the  manager 
of  a  big  mining  company  near  by  and  the  two  men  had 
agreed  that  they  must  see  to  it  that  I  didn't  start  another 
stampede,  as  they  had  already  been  delayed  far  too  much 
in  their  summer's  work.  Of  course  I'm  sorry  if  their  work 
is  delayed,  but  I  see  no  reason  at  all  for  these  men  to  miss 
the  chance  to  make  a  stake  that  might  mean  the  changing 
of  their  whole  lives,  just  to  save  those  managers  a  little 
delay.  Later,  if  I  struck  it  rich,  a  lot  of  men  would  come 
to  the  country  and  they  would  have  all  the  men  they 
wanted.  No  matter  what  they  do,  I  am  going  to  keep  on 
working  my  claim  just  the  same. 

But  I  am  afraid  I  won't  get  rich  this  time.  I  have  had 
a  splendid  experience,  however,  that  is  worth  more  than 
mere  money;  but  in  the  meantime,  my  home  building  has 


42  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

been  delayed.    But  perhaps  it  is  better  that  way.    Perhaps 
I  have  not  grown  up  enough  to  be  a  husband  and  father. 


Klihinah, 
July   I,  1914. 

I  received  another  letter  from  Marian  to-day.  It  was  a 
long,  sweet  letter  that  filled  me  with  confidence  that  every- 
thing will  come  out  for  the  best.  Even  though  things 
look  almost  hopeless  here,  I  do  not  fear  failure. 

If  I  don't  strike  richer  ground  here  soon,  I  will  have 
to  quit  working,  for  my  grub  supply  is  getting  low.  If  I 
only  had  some  adequate  tools,  I  am  sure  it  would  pay  to 
work  the  claim.  I  need  a  five  inch  pipe  line  about  two 
hundred  feet  long,  a  good  long  sluice  box  and  a  little 
powder  to  get  rid  of  the  large  bowlders.  But  I  haven't 
got  them  and  I  have  no  chance  of  getting  them,  except  by 
borrowing  money  from  my  friends,  and  that  I  will  not  do. 
So  I  am  afraid  I  shall  have  to  seek  a  job  soon.  I  am  not 
making  more  than  a  dollar  and  a  half  a  day,  and  part  of 
that  is  only  guess  work.  The  gold  is  so  fine  that  I  have 
to  use  mercury  to  catch  it  and  that  is  an  uncertain  business 
at  best.  I  have  a  saturated  solution  of  mercury  and  gold, 
if  one  can  call  it  that;  anyway,  it  is  mercury  with  as  much 
gold  as  it  will  hold,  a  lump  of  the  consistency  of  putty 
and  about  as  large  as  a  walnut,  and  it  has  been  estimated 
to  be  worth  twenty  dollars.  I  tried  to  retort  some  of  it  by 
placing  it  in  a  frying  pan  over  the  fire.  I  had  been  told 
that  thus  the  quicksilver  would  evaporate  and  leave  the 
gold,  but  it  didn't  work,  for  the  darned  stuff  spluttered  and 
most  of  it  jumped  into  the  fire  and  was  lost  some  way.  I 
didn't  see  how  it  happened,  for  the  fumes  of  mercury  are 
poison  and  the  wind  in  among  the  spruce  trees  blew  from 
all  directions;  so,  after  I  had  placed  the  pan  where  it 
couldn't  tip  over,  I  ran  to  where  there  was  no  danger  of  any 
fumes  reaching  me.  When  I  got  back,  the  gold  had  all 
jumped  out  of  the  pan.  One  of  the  miners  here  said  that 
it  was  because  there  was  grease  on  the  pan,  and  another 


A  POOR  PARDNER  43 

said  it  was  because  the  pan  was  too  hot ;  anyway,  I  am  not 
going  to  try  that  any  more.  I  hate  to  think  of  quitting 
the  claim  before  I  have  to,  for  I  never  can  tell  but  that 
there  is  a  chunk  of  gold  as  big  as  my  head  in  the  next 
shovelful,  and  so  I  work  on  and  work  on  as  fast  as  I  can 
all  day  long,  but  I  don't  get  anything  bigger  than  a  ten 
cent  piece. 

It  has  started  to  rain  the  last  few  days,  just  pours  down, 
and  there  is  no  controlling  the  water  in  my  ditch.  My 
sluice  box  kept  washing  away  to-day  and  I  had  to  stop 
sluicing.  The  small  creek  on  my  claim  is  a  regular  river 
and  roars  down  the  mountainside  with  a  mighty  voice.  One 
of  the  old  timers,  who  has  lived  in  this  part  of  the  country 
for  a  long  time,  says  that  this  will  last  for  a  month  or 
more  and  that  is  why  it  is  called  the  Rainy  Hollow  country. 
I  surely  hope  it  will  quit,  for  I  want  to  work  and  take  out 
a  few  more  dollars.  I  tried  to  get  a  job  in  Porcupine  the 
other  day,  but  I  was  told  to  get  off  the  company's  ground. 

They  wouldn't  give  me  credit  in  the  store  so  I  traded 
some  dust  for  flour  and  bacon  and  went  back  to  my 
diggings.  There  are  only  five  men  here  now,  all  the  rest 
having  gone  away  disappointed.  Life  is  a  peculiar  thing. 
A  few  weeks  ago  everybody  thought  I  was  a  benefactor 
and  a  smart  man,  but  now  they  curse  me  or  laugh  at  the 
fool  up  on  the  Klihinah.  I  feel  as  if  I  hadn't  a  friend  in 
the  world,  but  I  know  that  isn't  so.  It  is  only  the  rain 
drumming  on  the  tent,  my  wet  clothes  and  the  wet,  wet 
world  without,  that  makes  me  think  so.  But  her  letter, 
that  is  warmth  and  sunshine,  yes,  and  dryness,  even  if  I 
am  a  failure. 


Klihinah, 
July  20,  1 914. 
Well,  I  have  a  new  partner.    He  is  an  American  named 
Matt,  just  a  boy  about  twenty  years  old.     He  has  blue 
eyes  and  yellow  hair  and  is  a  good  kid. 

It  has  been  raining  for  the  last  two  weeks  and  I  haven't 


44  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

done  any  work  to  speak  of  and  that  means  that  I  haven't 
made  anything.  In  fact,  I  have  lost  my  twenty  dollar's 
worth  of  amalgam.  I  had  it  lying  outside  of  my  tent  on 
a  bench  and  one  morning  it  was  gone.  I  think  some  one 
took  it,  some  one  who  was  going  out  and  wanted  some- 
thing to  show  from  the  stampede.  So  we  have.  Matt  and 
I,  only  about  ten  dollars  in  dust.  When  the  rain  stops  we 
will  dig  a  little  while  longer  and  see  what  we  can  make 
and  then  maybe  we  will  mush  over  the  Dalton  trail  to 
the  interior  and  seek  a  job.  Matt  is  expecting  his  brother 
Earl  out  this  way  and  if  he  comes  he  may  join  forces  with 
us  and  we  will  be  quite  a  caravan. 


Klihinah, 
July  27,  1914. 

It  is  all  off  with  the  gold  camp  now.  For  the  last  few 
days  only  Matt  and  I  have  been  here.  The  only  other 
party  that  stayed  here  was  broken  up  by  the  leader  shooting 
himself  in  the  foot  accidentally  with  his  own  rifle.  We 
packed  him  out  four  days  ago  and  the  river  and  the  woods 
are  now  as  quiet  again  as  they  were  when  I  first  came  here. 
To-day  I  saw  a  black  bear  rooting  around  where  a  few 
days  ago  stood  a  small  village  of  tents,  and  the  grouse 
are  scratching  and  feeding  in  the  man-made  clearings. 

Matt's  brother  Earl  came  up  yesterday  and  with  the 
last  of  my  gold  dust  and  a  little  of  Earl's  money  we  bought 
enough  to  take  up  to  White  Horse,  Yukon  Territory.  We 
are  starting  day  after  to-morrow.  To-morrow  morning  I 
shall  run  down  to  Porcupine  with  our  last  mail  before 
we  go. 

There  will  be  no  trains  to  beat  any  longer  nor  even  a 
chance  to  ride  on  a  wagon,  for  after  we  leave  the  Rainy 
Hollow  there  will  only  be  a  footpath  for  a  couple  of  hun- 
dred miles  till  we  reach  the  Champaigne  country,  so  Matt 
says,  anyway,  and  he  is  the  only  one  of  the  three  who  has 
been  up  that  way.  I  will  not  be  able  to  send  my  diary  to 
Marian  as  I  have  been  doing,  but  I  shall  write  just  the 


A  POOR  PARDNER  45 

same  as  I  go  along  and  when  I  get  to  a  post-office  I  shall 
send  the  whole  works.  I  shall  think  of  her  often  and  even 
though  I  have  failed  to  accomplish  what  I  intended  to  this 
summer,  I  dare  dream  of  her  in  a  quiet  little  cabin  some- 
where that  will  be  our  home. 


CHAPTER  VII 

SHEEP  HUNTING 

White  Horse,  Y.  T., 
Aug.  12,  1914 

SOME  time  has  again  elapsed  and  my  diary  has  not 
been  touched.  I  am  sitting  on  the  brink  of  the  mighty 
river  that  flows  from  here  two  thousand  miles  through 
the  north  before  it  reaches  the  ocean.  It  is  a  fine  clear  day 
and  the  light  breeze  is  fanning  me  to  keep  the  mosquitoes 
away  as  I  write  the  experiences  of  the  trip  across  the 
mountains  and  through  the  country.  White  Horse  lies  on 
the  brink  of  the  river  and  is  surrounded  by  woods  and 
mountains,  but  they  are  not  like  the  mountains  of  the  coast, 
they  are  not  so  steep  and  high  and  there  are  no  glaciers  on 
them.  They  are  rounded  and  the  tops  of  them  are  bare  of 
woods.  They  lie  far  apart  with  broad  valleys  covered  with 
heavy  forests  of  jack  pine  and  spruce. 

We  left  the  diggings  on  the  Klihinah  on  the  29th  of 
July  early  in  the  morning,  the  three  of  us.  Matt,  Earl  and 
I,  each  carrying  an  equal  amount  of  grub  and  our  blankets. 
But  my  load  was  the  heaviest  by  twenty-five  pounds  for 
I  carried  my  rubber  boots,  extra  shoe  packs  and  clothes. 
My  partners  thought  this  was  very  foolish  and  I  admitted 
it  several  times  to  myself  on  the  way. 

Everything  went  smoothly  the  first  few  days  and  we 
mushed  right  along  in  the  best  of  humor,  helping  each 
other  make  the  camp  at  night  and  being  very  sociable  gen- 
erally. On  the  third  day  it  began  to  rain  and  we  became 
soaking  wet.  Then  we  lost  the  trail  and  Earl,  who  was 
the  youngest,  being  only  seventeen,  lost  his  nerve  and 
wanted  to  go  back.    We  argued  about  it  and  pitched  camp 

46 


SHEEP  HUNTING  47 

because  we  couldn't  decide  what  to  do.  Finally  I  left  the 
camp  and  climbed  to  the  top  of  a  nearby  heap  of  rocks 
from  which  I  could  see  over  the  crest  of  the  ridge  and  into 
a  long,  broad  valley  with  the  river  in  the  center  of  it 
running  to  the  east.  When  I  told  them  what  I  had  seen 
Matt  said  it  was  the  Alsik  river,  and  once  there  we  could 
not  get  lost.  So  we  struck  camp  and  mushed  on,  our 
blankets  twice  as  heavy  as  they  had  been  on  account  of 
the  rain.  Earl  kept  yammering  about  wild  goose  chases 
and  the  foolishness  of  going  so  far  for  a  job,  but  in  the 
afternoon  when  the  sun  came  out  and  we  could  see  the 
Alsik  valley  spread  out  before  us,  he  brightened  up  and 
became  quite  jolly. 

We  camped  on  a  broad  bench  about  a  thousand  feet  above 
the  river.  There  was  a  grove  of  spruce  and  jack  pine  and 
a  little  rushing  creek  that  tumbled  down  over  the  bowlders 
in  a  small  crooked  canyon  nearby.  It  was  very  beautiful 
and  wonderful  to  behold;  the  silver  river  winding  its  way 
through  the  broad  valley,  spotted  with  groves  of  conifers 
and  patches  of  willow  brush  with  here  and  there  wide 
grassy  meadows.  We  could  see  mountain  sheep  grazing 
on  the  mountainside  across  the  river  and  by  the  very  edge 
of  the  stream  we  could  see  a  big  bear  browsing  along, 
looking  for  salmon,  I  suppose.  I  wanted  to  write  to  Marian 
and  tell  her  how  wonderful  it  was  but  Earl  kept  talking 
all  the  evening  about  this  and  that,  asking  me  a  hundred 
questions,  and  when  he  finally  let  me  write,  the  inspira- 
tion had  passed  and  I  am  afraid  I  shall  never  be  able  to 
describe  the  beautiful  place  and  the  impression  it  made 
on  me.  Such  color  and  such  light!  The  sun  set  beneath 
a  rounded  mountain  and  I  wondered  about  her  and  what 
she  was  doing  just  then  and  if  she  were  asleep  and  dream- 
ing of  the  northland. 

We  decided  to  go  sheep  hunting  the  next  day.  In  the 
early  morning  when  daylight  was  still  hazy  and  gray,  I  was 
up  and  about  and  had  ptarmigan  frying  over  the  fire  and 
rice  boiling  in  the  pot  while  the  two  boys  were  making  a 


48  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

small  cache  in  a  branchy  tree  nearby.  We  got  an  early 
start  and  soon  we  had  made  our  way  up  the  brushy  canyon 
to  the  clear  benches  above.  The  sun  shone  glittering  in 
millions  of  dewdrops.  We  were  quite  wet  from  pushing 
through  the  brush  but  once  we  gained  the  open  bench  the 
warm  sun  dried  us.  On  the  side  of  a  round,  grass-covered, 
sun-bathed  hill  seven  white  objects  moved  slowly  along. 
They  were  mountain  sheep  browsing.  We  halted  and  dis- 
cussed the  situation.  There  was  no  wind  at  all  so  that 
was  not  to  be  taken  into  consideration.  Matt  decided  to 
leave  Earl  on  this  side  watching  the  herd  while  he  went 
around  to  the  other  side  and  I  went  around  to  the  back 
and  climbed  over  the  top  and  came  down  on  them.  We 
were  all  going  to  slip  up  as  close  to  them  as  we  could  and 
when  I  got  ready  I  was  to  fire  at  the  center  of  the  flock. 
Earl  was  to  take  the  lower  and  Matt  the  upper  sheep.  Matt 
and  I  cautioned  Earl  to  wait  at  least  half  an  hour  before 
he  moved,  as  it  would  take  us  that  long  to  reach  our  re- 
spective positions,  and  then  we  set  off  at  a  run.  The  ground 
was  cut  up  where  the  hill  faced  the  river  and  it  took  us 
longer  than  we  expected.  We  hurried  over  gullies  and 
humps  and  rock  slides  and  all  kinds  of  delaying  obstacles 
in  a  frantic  hurry,  because  we  knew  that  Earl  was  anxious 
to  shoot  and  that  it  was  doubtful  if  he  would  wait  half 
an  hour  before  moving  up  on  the  game.  Our  fears  were 
justified,  for  no  sooner  were  we  on  the  other  side  of  the 
hill  than  the  dull  report  of  a  rifle  shot  sounded  from  the 
other  side  of  the  mountain.  Matt  swore  and  threw  his 
rifle  on  the  ground,  damning  all  kid  brothers.  I  was  thor- 
oughly disgusted,  too,  for  I  would  also  have  liked  to  get 
a  shot  at  them.  I  kept  my  eyes  peeled,  however,  and  sure 
enough,  around  the  crest  of  the  hill  came  the  seven  sheep 
at  a  gallop  right  down  towards  us.  We  ducked  in  among 
a  jumbled  heap  of  bowlders. 

"I'll  take  the  first,"  I  whispered,  as  the  flock  came  leaping 
on.  They  passed  above  us  within  a  hundred  yards,  making 
for  a  long  bench  below.     Both  of  us  blazed  away.     Matt 


SHEEP  HUNTING  49 

got  his  sheep  with  the  first  shot  but  I  had  to  fire  a  second 
time  before  mine  fell,  tumbling  over  and  over  down  a 
steep  rock  slide,  landing  within  thirty  feet  of  where  we 
were  hidden. 

Earl  felt  pretty  cheap  about  it.  He  said  that  the  herd 
had  seen  him  as  soon  as  he  had  started  towards  them  when 
the  half  hour  was  up  and  had  started  off  at  a  run.  He  had 
taken  a  shot  at  them  anyway  and  said  one  of  them  had  fallen 
but  had  gotten  up  and  kept  running.  Some  rocks  were  in 
the  way  and  he  didn't  have  another  chance  to  shoot.  Of 
course  we  were  satisfied  with  the  way  the  hunt  had  turned 
out,  so  we  didn't  reprimand  the  kid  for  having  tried  to  bag 
the  whole  hunt  for  himself. 

We  had  sheep  chops  for  dinner  and  for  supper  and  for 
breakfast  the  next  morning  and  it  was  the  most  delicious 
meat  that  I  ever  tasted.  It  was  the  only  meat  that  I  have 
ever  eaten  that  I  could  eat  a  whole  meal  of  with  nothing 
else  to  go  with  it.  And  the  best  of  it  is  that  the  fat  is 
as  good  as  the  lean. 

I  strapped  a  half  sheep  on  my  pack  when  we  started  on 
our  way  again  and  the  boys  each  took  a  hind  quarter,  so 
we  had  lots  of  meat  the  rest  of  the  way. 

Somehow  I  was  awfully  grouchy  on  that  trip.  The  pack 
was  too  heavy  and  my  shoulders  and  back  ached.  Earl 
kept  asking  the  damdest  questions  all  the  time. 

"That's  a  spruce  tree,  isn't  it?  There's  a  creek  over 
there  in  that  gulch,  isn't  there  ?  That  last  creek  we  crossed 
was  pretty  muddy,  wasn't  it?"  and  so  on  indefinitely,  and 
I  would  nod  my  head  and  say,  "Yes"  and  "Uh  huh"  and 
"Yes"  all  day  long.  One  day  I  turned  and  glared  at  him 
in  exasperation  and  shouted:  "Isn't  it!  don't  it!  ain't  it! 
won't  it !  shouldn't  it,  ought  to  have  been !  Holy,  suffering 
saints !    Can't  you  give  a  man  a  rest  ?    Are  you  crazy  ?" 

The  boy  looked  at  me  in  surprise  and  said,  "No,  but  I 
think  you  are.    Your  pack  is  getting  pretty  heavy,  isn't  it?" 

Well,  I  suppose  I  was  impatient  and  intolerant.  The  kid 
was  all  right  and  if  anybody  was  doing  wrong,  it  was  I 


50  ALASKA  MAN'S  LIJCK 

because  I  was  so  grouchy,  yet,  at  the  time  I  felt  as  if  that 
boy  had  done  me  a  grievous  wrong,  I  explained  carefully, 
or  as  carefully  as  I  could,  for  I  was  almost  boiling  over 
with  wrath,  that  I  wanted  to  do  a  little  thinking  of  my  own 
and  I  asked  him  not  to  ask  so  many  questions  or  to  ask 
Matt  if  there  was  anything  he  wanted  to  know.  But,  alas, 
there  was  no  curbing  that  lad's  inquiring  nature.  It  wasn't 
ten  minutes  before  he  started  on  a  new  chapter  of  ques- 
tions and  remarks,  with  questioning  "ain't  its"  behind,  I 
got  so  exasperated  that  I  stayed  behind  almost  all  the  way 
and  was  grouchy  and  sullen  at  meal  times  and  in  the  eve- 
nings. 

It  is  plain  to  be  seen  that  I  was  in  no  mood  to  write  a 
diary  for  the  girl  that  I  loved,  after  such  days,  so  the 
detailed  experiences  of  this  trip  will  never  be  written.  We 
saw  many  trails  of  caribou,  moose  and  bear  and  we  saw 
many  sheep  on  the  hillsides  and  we  had  all  the  rabbits, 
ptarmigan  and  grouse  that  we  cared  to  shoot  and  eat. 

At  Klukshoo  Lake  the  Stick  Indians  were  camped  for 
the  salmon  fishing.  This  lake  is  a  spawning  ground  for 
the  Alsik  sockeye  salmon  and  the  natives  were  having  a 
great  time.  We  learned  from  them  of  the  war  that  had 
started, 

"Skookum  fight,"  one  of  them  said  with  a  leer.  "Pretty 
soon  all  white  men  fight.  Indian  man  kill  rest,"  and  he 
leered  again  and  swung  a  rifle  about  his  head.  He  was 
under  the  influence  of  liquor  and  I  did  not  take  much  stock 
in  what  he  was  saying.  It  seemed  so  impossible  that  one 
civilized  nation  would  declare  war  upon  another,  and  I  was 
greatly  shocked  when  I  learned  that  it  was  really  a  world 
war, 

I  forgot  to  tell  about  Dalton  Post,  We  came  there  on 
the  sixth  day  in  the  evening.  We  were  on  the  wrong  side 
of  the  river  so  Matt  fired  his  gun  three  times  and  soon 
three  squaws  broke  out  of  the  bushes  and  came  chattering 
down  to  the  edge  of  the  river,  looking  across  at  us.  They 
held  some  kind  of  a  confab  and  then  went  back  into  the 


SHEEP  HUNTING  51 

brush  and  dragged  a  canoe  out.  Two  of  them  got  in  and 
with  long  poles  brought  the  craft  across  the  river.  One 
of  them  was  young  and  very  beautiful  and  she  could  speak 
a  little  English. 

"Where  you  come  from?"  the  young  squaw  asked  as 
soon  as  they  had  worked  the  canoe  close  to  the  bank  in 
an  eddy  of  the  current. 

"Klihinah,"  Matt  answered.     "Big  gold  camp." 

"You  know  Hootsklahoo ?"  the  girl  asked  eagerly;  a  girl 
she  was,  not  more  than  seventeen.  She  looked  inquiringly 
at  me  and  Matt  shook  his  head. 

In  1 912  when  I  was  on  a  hunting  trip  up  the  Chilkat 
River,  I  met  several  of  the  Stick  Indians  and  hunted  sheep 
and  goats  with  them.  They  dubbed  me  Hootsklahoo.  I 
don't  know  just  what  it  means,  but  I  know  that  "Hoots" 
means  bear  and  I  have  been  told  that  Hootsklahoo  meant 
red  moose.  Still,  I  think  that  if  the  person  who  told  me 
that  had  said  brown  bear,  he  would  have  come  nearer  the 
truth,  for  when  I  let  my  beard  grow  a  month,  I  look  more 
like  a  bear  than  a  human.  I  might  as  well  tell  the  rest 
of  it  while  I  am  about  it.  I  was  going  up  the  road  from 
Klukwan  to  Wells  where  my  camp  was,  when  I  came  upon 
an  Indian  woman  leaning  against  a  tree  by  the  side  of  the 
road.  As  I  passed  her  I  thought  she  looked  mighty  sick  but 
it  would  not  be  good  manners  to  stop  and  ask  the  health 
of  a  strange  squaw,  so  I  hurried  on.  She  was  barefooted 
and  her  feet  were  bleeding,  and  the  pathetic  droop  of  her 
shoulders  bothered  my  conscience.  It  seemed  as  if  I  ought 
at  least  to  have  asked  her  if  there  was  not  something  that 
I  could  do  for  her.  Finally  I  stopped  and  looked  back. 
She  was  still  standing  by  the  tree  with  her  shoulders  droop- 
ing. I  went  over  to  her  and  asked  if  she  was  sick.  Yes, 
she  was,  she  answered  in  good  English.  She  had  gone 
to  Klukwan  to  visit  some  relatives  and  they  had  been 
drinking  to  celebrate.  She  had  not  tasted  whiskey  for  a 
long  time  and  the  Thlinket  squaws  had  made  her  drunk 
and  had  taken  her  shoes  away  from  her  and  then  driven 


52  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

her  out  in  the  woods  at  night.  Now  she  was  on  her  way 
to  where  her  people,  the  Sticks,  were  camped  near  Wells. 
Naturally,  I  felt  very  sorry  for  her  and  I  hated  to  see  her 
go  barefooted  on  those  bleeding  feet.  So  I  looked  at  my 
own  feet  encased  in  government  shoe  packs  (I  was  a  sol- 
dier at  the  time)  and  I  thought  that  it  was  less  than  a  mile 
to  my  camp.  Also,  I  realized  that  I  would  have  to  pay 
two  dollars  and  a  half  for  a  new  pair  and  I  wondered  what 
kind  of  a  lie  I  would  tell  when  I  had  to  explain  the  loss 
of  my  packs  to  my  captain.  But  I  sat  down  and  took  my 
shoes  off  and  g^ve  them  to  the  squaw.  Then  I  trotted  up 
the  road  to  my  camp,  sneaked  into  my  tent  the  back  way, 
and  got  a  pair  of  shoes  on  before  any  of  the  other  fellows 
noticed  me.  I  told  my  captain  that  I  had  taken  my  shoe 
packs  off  to  wade  in  after  a  duck  and  had  not  been  able 
to  find  them  again  and  I  managed  to  make  that  stick.  Of 
course  the  squaw  told  about  it  to  the  rest  of  the  Sticks 
and  when  I  became  acquainted  with  them  a  few  days  later 
they  showed  their  friendship  by  taking  me  out  hunting 
with  them  and  treating  me  as  one  of  them.  Paddy,  their 
chief,  had  said  that  if  I  ever  came  to  Dalton  Post  he  would 
give  me  his  daughter  in  marriage,  and  I  had  said  that  I 
might  take  him  up  on  that  some  time. 

So  it  happened  that  the  Indian  girl  asked  for  Hootskla- 
hoo,  and  looked  inquiringly  at  me.  "Hootsklahoo,  Indian 
call  him.  He  big  red  man,"  she  pointed  to  her  hair.  "Make 
big  stampede.    You  know?" 

We  all  shook  our  heads  but  I  couldn't  help  smiling  at 
her,  but  also  I  was  a  bit  embarrassed  when  she  pointed  an 
accusing  finger  at  me  and  said,  "I  know.  You  Hootskla- 
hoo." 

We  stepped  into  the  canoe  and  sat  down  in  the  bottom 
while  the  two  squaws  poled  us  across.  When  we  reached 
the  other  shore  two  big  Indians  came  running  down  the 
trail.  They  had  been  out  hunting  and  had  heard  our  shots. 
They  were  Paddy  and  Casey  and  they  thought  that  I  had 


SHEEP  HUNTING  53 

come  to  stay.  When  I  told  them  that  I  was  only  going 
through  and  intended  to  stay  for  one  night,  they  were  very 
much  disappointed. 

Paddy  took  us  to  his  cabin  and  made  us  comfortable.  His 
wife  did  the  cooking  and  Princess,  his  daughter,  chopped 
wood  outside  and  carried  water.  She  was  not  allowed  in 
the  house  while  we  were  there.  Matt  and  Earl  went  out 
to  find  a  place  to  make  a  camp  for  the  night  and  perhaps 
to  get  another  look  at  the  pretty  Indian  maid,  but  I  stayed 
with  the  Indians,  for  I  could  see  that  there  was  something 
Paddy  wanted  to  tell  me.  After  we  had  talked  of  the  trail 
and  the  game  and  the  gold  camp,  he  took  me  outside  and 
showed  me  a  nice  warm  cabin  all  furnished  with  blankets 
and  everything. 

"I  give  you,"  he  said,  "You  give  my  wife  eighty  dol- 
lars. You  marry  Princess.  I  give  you  house,  traps,  I  give 
you  everything.  Princess  not  my  daughter,  she  old  chief's 
daughter.  I  marry  chief's  squaw  when  he  die.  She  my 
daughter — I  give  you  free.  My  wife  want  eighty  dol- 
lar." He  shrugged  his  shoulders,  indicating  that  he  could 
do  nothing  about  that,  then  he  brightened  up  again.  "You 
pay  next  winter.  Plenty  fur.  Plenty  time  to  pay.  My 
wife  want  Princess  marry  you." 

But  I  told  him  that  it  couldn't  be,  that  I  had  a  white 
girl  who  was  waiting  for  me  and  that  I  had  promised  to 
marry  her.  He  caught  me  looking  at  Princess  as  she  went 
by  with  a  large  piece  of  meat  and  he  nodded  knowingly 
to  me  and  said,  "You  come  back  sometime.  I  know.  You 
come  back."  Of  course  I  have  no  desire  to  come  back, 
nevertheless  it  made  me  embarrassed  when  Princess  peeped 
at  me  through  the  window,  or  through  the  crack  in  the 
door.  But  at  the  same  time  it  made  me  a  little  angry  when 
Matt  said  in  a  whisper,  "Look  at  that  girl  making  eyes  at 
me.    She's  a  peach  ain't  she?" 

Early  the  next  morning  we  left  Dalton  Post.  We  arrived 
last  night,  and  now  we  are  camping  in  a  canyon  outside 


54  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

of  town,  for  we  haven't  money  enough  to  rent  a  cabin. 
We  are  going  to  try  to  get  work  in  the  copper  mines  here, 
or  cutting  wood.  These  two  jobs  are  about  the  only  ones 
a  stranger  can  hope  to  get. 


CHAPTER  VIII 


DOWN    TO    MY    LAST    CENT 


White  Horse, 
Aug.  14,  1914. 

THE  wheel  of  Fortune  seems  to  have  turned  against 
me.  I  came  here  confident  of  getting  a  job,  I  have 
never  before  seen  the  time  when  I  couldn't  get  a 
job  somewhere,  but  it  seems  that  at  last  I  have  come  to 
that  point.  I  tried  the  mines — they  had  all  the  men  they 
wanted.  I  tried  the  woods,  a  dozen  wood  camps — nothing 
doing.  And  I  have  only  a  very  few  dollars  left.  I  sold 
the  very  last  of  my  gold  dust,  and  received  four  dollars  and 
sixty  cents,  and  that  is  my  whole  capital  except  my  guns, 
my  blankets,  and  my  cooking  outfit.  I  would  gladly  mush 
to  somewhere  to  seek  a  job,  but  at  this  time  of  the  year 
most  of  the  camps  are  about  to  close  down  for  the  winter. 
I  would  mush  down  the  Yukon  to  Dawson,  but  that  is  a 
long  way  to  go  on  four  dollars,  and  besides,  I  have  been 
told  that  if  a  man  is  found  broke  and  begging  there  in  the 
fall,  the  police  put  him  in  jail  and  keep  him  chopping 
wood  for  the  city  all  winter.  Now  I  wouldn't  mind 
chopping  wood  for  a  living,  but  I  do  object  to  the  jail  part 
of  it,  so  I  guess  I  won't  go  there. 


White  Horse, 
Aug.  30,  191 4. 
I  received  a  letter  from  Marian  to-day.  It  was  for- 
warded from  Haines  and  mighty  glad  I  am  that  there  is  at 
least  something  in  the  world  to  cheer  me  up.  My  spirit 
weakens  at  times,  but  her  letters  always  rekindle  the  fires 
of  ambition  and  give  me  new  hope. 

S5 


56  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

There  is  no  work  here,  absolutely  no  work.  I  couldn't 
get  a  job  if  I  offered  my  services  for  my  board  alone. 
There  is  only  so  much  work  to  do,  and  they  have  lots  of 
men  who  live  right  here,  to  do  it.  I  put  in  a  few  hours  on 
a  job  longshoring,  when  the  steamship  company  was  in  a 
hurry  to  get  a  boat  unloaded,  and  if  it  hadn't  been  for  that 
and  for  my  rifle  that  I  got  ten  dollars  for,  I  would  have 
been  begging  by  now.  Things  surely  cost  something  up 
here.  One  can't  get  a  meal  in  a  restaurant  for  less  than 
seventy-five  cents,  and  not  a  good  meal  for  less  than  a 
dollar  and  a  half. 

Matt  and  Earl  went  away  down  a  river  to  a  fox  ranch 
to  try  to  get  a  job.  They  took  their  things  along,  so  I 
suppose  they  are  not  coming  back  and  I  am  all  alone  in 
my  canyon  lair  at  night.  I  must  confess  that  I  have  been 
pretty  down  hearted  and  I  was  even  considering  going 
back  to  Dalton  Post,  but  that  letter  put  all  such  thoughts 
out  of  my  head. 

A  man  who  looked  like  a  detective  came  up  to  me  on 
the  street  yesterday  and  began  conversation  about  the  war. 
I  told  him  that  I  was  a  Dane  and  that  I  was  naturally  pro- 
English,  but  I  thought  the  whole  thing  was  a  darned  shame. 
He  asked  me  where  I  lived  and  I  said,  "Oh,  just  out  of 
town  a  ways." 

He  looked  at  me  very  suspiciously  and  it  made  me  feel 
queer.  I  don't  blame  him  for  being  suspicious,  however. 
It  must  seem  queer  to  any  one  that  I  should  live  outside 
of  town  in  a  canyon  like  a  beast  of  prey.  I  have  inquired 
round  about  what  a  man  gets  for  begging  and  I  have  heard 
that  the  Royal  Northwestern  Mounted  Police  generally 
keep  a  man  in  jail  chopping  wood  all  winter  when  he  is 
caught  begging  in  the  fall. 


White  Horse, 
Aug.  25,  1914. 
Well,  I  have  to  leave  here.  One  of  the  redcoats  came  up 
to  me  yesterday  morning  just  when  I  had  come  to  town 


DOWN  TO  MY  LAST  CENT  57 

and  asked  me  where  I  had  come  from.  I  told  him  and  also 
said  that  I  was  looking  for  a  job  and  asked  him  to  let  me 
know  if  he  learned  of  anybody  wanting  a  man.  I  would  do 
anything,  I  told  him,  because  I  was  about  broke. 

"Take  a  tip  from  me,  kid,"  he  said,  "and  beat  it  away 
from  here  while  the  beating  is  good.  The  captain  has  seen 
you  and  he  doesn't  like  to  have  any  down-and-outers  around 
town.  We  have  orders  to  keep  an  eye  on  you  and  we  may 
have  orders  to  pinch  you  at  any  time." 

I  haven't  done  anybody  any  harm.  Nor  have  I  stolen 
anything,  but  I  have  only  a  dollar  and  a  half  in  my  pocket, 
and  I  suppose  that  is  more  or  less  of  a  crime.  I  can  see 
why  a  community  like  White  Horse  doesn't  like  to  have 
bums  hanging  around  and  I  suppose  that  I  have  no  busi- 
ness being  broke.  Yet  I  am  and  I  can  see  breakers  ahead. 
This  morning  after  I  had  cooked  the  last  of  my  oatmeal 
and  had  eaten  my  breakfast,  I  heard  somebody  coming  up 
the  canyon  through  the  brush.  Had  the  constable  not 
warned  me  yesterday  I  wouldn't  have  thought  anything 
about  it,  but  as  it  was  I  grabbed  my  mackinaw  and  hat  and 
sneaked  into  the  heavy  underbrush  up  one  bank  of  the 
canyon.  I  got  to  a  place  where  I  could  lie  under  a  lot  of 
small  spruce  brush  and  look  right  down  on  my  camp. 

Two  redcoats  and  a  man  in  civilian  clothes  came  sneak- 
ing up  the  path.  When  they  found  the  camp  empty,  the 
civilian  cursed  roundly.  He  ordered  the  two  constables 
around  and  they  searched  the  brush  up  and  down  the  can- 
yon but  found  no  trace  of  where  I  had  gone.  "He  can't 
get  away  from  us,"  I  heard  the  officer  say,  and  then  they 
rolled  up  my  blankets  and  my  outfit  and  took  the  whole 
works  along  with  them.  I  don't  know  what  they  want  with 
me  but  I  am  afraid  they  are  short  of  wood  choppers,  and 
to  work  all  winter  for  my  board,  being  in  jail  to  boot,  is 
more  than  I  want.  They  didn't  act  as  if  they  wished  me 
well,  so  I  guess  I  won't  call  for  my  blankets.  I  am  hiding 
in  a  deserted  cabin  out  a  mile  or  so  from  town  and  to-night 
when  it  gets  dark  I  am  going  to  take  a  chance,  go  into  the 


58  ALASKA  MAN^S  LUCK 

town  and  buy  some  grub  with  my  last  money,  then  start 
down  the  track  for  Skagway.  I  have  nothing  but  the 
clothes  I  have  on  and  I  am  wanted.  That  last  thrills  me. 
It  seems  like  a  game  that  I  am  playing. 


Skagway,  Alaska. 
Aug.  28,1914. 

When  a  man  starts  sliding  down  hill  in  society,  he  has 
a  hard  time  to  stop.  I  have  been  sliding  and  I  am  still 
going.  I  got  some  canned  beans  and  some  hardtack  for 
my  last  money  in  White  Horse  the  night  of  the  25th.  I 
heard  the  storekeeper  telephone  to  the  police  that  I  was 
in  his  store.  He  served  me  and  tried  to  keep  me  in  his 
place  but  I  told  him  that  I  was  going  to  Dawson  and  was 
in  a  hurry  to  start,  then  I  ran  as  fast  as  I  could  out  of  town 
and  into  the  woods.  I  was  being  really  hunted  now.  Hunted 
like  a  criminal!  I  kept  in  the  edge  of  the  woods  till  I 
reached  the  railroad  track  and  then  I  struck  out  towards 
Skagway,  one  hundred  and  eleven  miles  away. 

I  hurried  along  all  night  and  the  next  morning.  At 
nine  o'clock  I  came  to  a  good  sized  town.  It  was  Carcross 
or  Caribou  and  I  had  traveled  forty-six  miles.  I  wanted  to 
go  around  the  town  but  I  had  to  come  through  part  of  it, 
for  the  railroad  crosses  a  bridge  where  Lake  Bennett  runs 
into  Lake  Caribou,  and  there  was  only  one  other  bridge 
and  that  right  by  the  railroad  bridge.  But  no  one  paid 
any  attention  to  me  as  I  went  across  and  out  into  the  coun- 
try again.  I  slept  on  the  soft  moss  under  a  jack  pine  and 
after  a  few  hours  felt  greatly  rested,  ate  a  bite  and  hurried 
on.  By  evening  I  had  traveled  twenty-five  miles  more 
and  was  in  Bennett. 

I  was  thoroughly  tired  now  and  when  I  saw  that  a  freight 
train  was  about  to  pull  out,  I  was  glad  for  I  thought  that 
I  could  get  a  ride  the  rest  of  the  forty  odd  miles  to  Skag- 
way. I  hid  in  the  yard  between  two  box  cars,  but  when 
the  train  started  a  redcoat  came  along  the  track  and  stood 


DOWN  TO  MY  LAST  CENT  59 

a  few  paces  from  where  I  was  lying,  watching  the  train 
pull  out. 

In  spite  of  the  fact  that  I  hadn't  done  any  harm,  I  was 
afraid  of  that  constable  and  had  he  seen  me  and  tried  to 
pinch  me,  I  had  my  mind  all  made  up  to  jump  on  him, 
take  his  gun  away  from  him,  and  run.  But  luckily  for 
me  he  went  back  after  the  train  pulled  out,  not  suspecting 
that  any  one  who  would  have  stolen  a  ride  was  around.  I 
watched  him  go  and  saw  that  he  was  joined  by  another 
constable  who  had  been  watching  the  other  side  of  the 
train  and  I  knew  that  there  was  no  chance  of  making  a 
train  out  of  Bennett.  I  took  to  my  heels  again  as  soon  as 
they  were  out  of  sight  and  was  soon  safely  out  in  the 
wilderness  once  more. 

From  Bennett  the  railroad  runs  up  a  steep  grade  to  the 
White  Pass  and  then  it  drops  down  to  the  sea  through  a 
deep,  long,  winding  canyon.  As  I  neared  the  coast,  the 
weather,  which  had  been  excellent  all  the  way,  became 
windy,  chill  and  wet.  It  started  to  rain  and  later  to  snow 
and  I  was  soon  wet  to  the  skin.  I  had  intended  to  find 
some  place  out  in  the  woods  where  I  could  get  out  of  the 
wind  and  build  a  fire,  but  as  it  grew  darker  and  darker,  I 
found  that  it  would  be  futile  to  try  to  camp  comfortably 
anywhere  without  tent  or  blanket.  I  made  up  my  mind 
to  make  the  rest  of  the  forty  miles  to  Skagway  before 
stopping.  I  did  try  to  catch  a  few  winks  of  sleep  under 
a  railroad  bridge  where  there  was  some  shelter,  but  I  was 
soon  frozen  out  and  had  to  keep  going  to  keep  warm.  Up 
on  the  barren  wastes  of  the  White  Pass  the  wind  drove  the 
rain  so  hard  that  I  could  hardly  make  headway  against  it. 
It  was  dark  and  cold  and  I  was  all  alone  there  in  the  night, 
making  my  way  against  the  elements.  I  had  to  keep  on  for 
there  was  no  shelter  till  I  came  to  the  summit  of  the  pass, 
eighteen  miles  from  Skagway.  I  could  not  stay  there  for 
that  is  the  boundary  line  and  there  are  custom  officers  and 
redcoats. 

I  have  always  been  a  fast  walker  but  I  believe  I  made  a 


6o  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

record  that  night.  When  the  track  was  in  the  shelter  of 
the  towering  cliffs  and  mountains  so  the  wind  could  not 
sweep  so  hard,  I  ran  with  long  strides.  I  was  tired,  so 
tired  that  my  legs  were  numb  and  they  did  not  hurt  at  all. 
I  reached  the  summit  some  time  in  the  night.  There  was 
a  long  station  house  that  was  altogether  unlighted  and  de- 
serted, but  there  was  a  smaller  house  with  a  lighted  room. 
I  moved  silently  up  to  the  window.  A  constable  was  sitting 
by  the  stove,  a  paper  on  his  lap.  He  was  asleep.  It  looked 
very  warm  and  comfortable  in  there.  A  dog  barked.  The 
constable  stirred,  and  opening  his  eyes,  looked  directly  at 
me.  I  ducked  and  ran  down  the  track  through  long,  pitch 
dark  snowsheds,  over  bridges,  crossing  deep  gorges  where 
the  wind  tore  at  me  till  I  lay  down  and  crawled  on  hands 
and  knees,  for  fear  I'd  be  blown  off.  The  down  hill  grade 
was  steep,  so  steep  that  it  made  traveling  much  easier  than 
it  had  been.    It  took  no  effort  at  all  to  run. 

I  came  to  a  station  with  five  or  six  houses  around  it.  The 
last  mile  stone  had  read  seven,  that  meant  seven  miles  to 
Skagway.  I  had  traveled  one  hundred  and  four  miles, 
with  only  a  couple  of  hours  rest  and  I  was  very,  very  tired. 
A  shack  stood  a  little  way  from  the  track.  In  the  moon- 
light it  looked  like  some  kind  of  a  barn  or  storehouse.  I 
tiptoed  cautiously  up  to  it  I  wanted  to  find  a  place  to 
sleep.  The  door  was  closed  and  had  a  padlock  on  it.  I 
went  to  the  back  and  found  a  window.  It  didn't  look  like 
a  bam  window  I  thought  but  I  had  to  find  a  place  to  sleep 
out  of  the  cold  and  wet,  so  I  shoved  it  up  and  found  a 
stick  to  hold  it  open,  lying  on  the  window  sill.  I  crawled 
in  as  quietly  as  I  could  and  struck  a  match.  I  was  in  a 
kitchen.  There  were  lots  of  pots  and  pans  hangfing  on  the 
wall  and  a  big  cooking  range  stood  by.  I  was  about  to  lie 
down  and  sleep  on  the  floor  but  on  second  thought  I  de- 
cided to  see  what  was  in  the  next  room,  to  be  sure  no  one 
was  in  the  house.  I  tiptoed  in  through  the  open  door  and 
struck  another  match.  There  was  a  bed  and  a  man  and  a 
woman  lay  close  together  fast  asleep.     I  had  a  vision  of 


DOWN  TO  MY  LAST  CENT  6i 

their  waking  up  to  find  me  standing  there,  so  I  put  out  my 
match  and  silently  left  the  room  and  went  out  through  the 
window  to  the  wet,  cold  night.  I  shall  never  enter  a  house 
again  in  that  fashion. 

I  walked  wearily  down  the  track  again.  My  feet  had 
been  wet  all  night  and  now  they  were  giving  out.  At  the 
three  mile  post  I  gave  up  the  struggle  and  crawled  into 
a  lot  of  brush  at  the  foot  of  a  giant  cottonwood  and  fell 
asleep  immediately. 

I  awoke  in  the  middle  of  the  day,  sore  in  limb  and  soul. 
It  was  raining  and  blowing  and  I  had  a  hard  time  to  get 
warmed  up.  When  I  left  the  army,  some  of  the  boys  had 
given  me  a  small  nugget  pin  as  a  keepsake.  I  hated  to  part 
with  it  but  I  had  to  eat,  so  I  hocked  it  with  a  jeweler  for 
a  dollar  and  a  half  and  I  had  a  good  big  feed  and  a  long 
sleep  in  a  real  bed. 

To-day  I  feel  better  and  shall  look  around  for  work.  I 
have  only  fifty  cents  left  but  there  is  a  boat  in  to-night  and 
I  might  get  a  job  longshoring.  If  I  ever  get  a  job  again, 
I  shall  stay  with  it  till  I  have  enough  money  to  justify 
my  quitting. 


CHAPTER  IX 


A  FALSE    MOVE 


Aug.  30,  1914. 
Out  in  the  woods, 

1AM  out  in  the  woods  but  I  am  not  happy.  I  am  a  very 
miserable  man,  for  I  have  forfeited  all  right  to  con- 
sider myself  a  good  enough  man  to  expect  to  be  con- 
sidered decent  at  all.  It's  up  to  her  to  judge  if  I  am  still 
eligible  to  be  her  suitor.  I  want  her  to  know  just  how 
it  happened. 

On  the  night  before  yesterday  I  tried  to  get  a  job  long- 
shoring  on  a  passenger  boat,  but  there  were  a  lot  more 
men  than  there  were  jobs,  so  naturally  I  didn't  get  on, 
being  a  new  man.  I  didn't  buy  a  bed  that  night  because  I 
had  only  fifty  cents,  so  I  slept  in  an  empty  cabin.  It  was 
cold  but  much  better  than  out  of  doors  and  I  was  very 
thankful  for  it.  I  had  only  eaten  one  meal  the  day  before 
and  yesterday  morning  I  bought  a  fifteen  cent  loaf  of 
bread  and  had  bread  and  water  for  breakfast.  It  rained 
and  blew  all  during  the  day  and  I  was  so  miserable  that  I 
stayed  in  the  cabin  and  read  some  old  magazines  that  lay 
round  about  on  the  floor.  Toward  evening  a  man  came 
past  and  saw  me  in  there. 

"What  are  you  doing  there?"  he  asked  and  eyed  me 
suspiciously. 

"I'm  just  killing  time.  I  am  broke  and  looking  for 
work."  I  felt  awfully  cheap  and  weak  as  if  I  had  no  back- 
bone. 

"Come  out  of  that,"  the  man  cried  sharply.  "You 
can't  stay  there.  That  shack  belongs  to  me.  If  you  hadn't 
spent  your  money  for  booze  you  wouldn't  be  broke." 

62 


A  FALSE  MOVE  63 

I  was  filled  with  anger  at  this  and  ran  out  of  the  shack. 
"I  didn't  drink  nor  beg  nor  bum,  you  dirty  skunk,"  I  cried, 
and  ran  down  the  street  through  the  rain.  I  felt  surpris- 
ingly weak  and  out  of  whack,  altogether  out  of  harmony 
with  the  rest  of  the  world.  I  was  so  alone  and  wet  and 
cold  and  hungry. 

It  is  a  queer  world  where  a  man  must  work  to  live, 
whether  he  can  get  work  or  not.  If  he  can't  get  work, 
he  must  starve  or  beg.  But  to  beg  is  a  crime,  so  he  must 
starve  or  kill  himself.  But  killing  himself,  too,  is  against 
the  law.  I  bought  another  loaf  of  bread  and  a  nickel's 
worth  of  cheese.  It  was  good  but  it  didn't  satisfy  my 
hunger.  It  didn't  hit  the  right  place  and  I  felt  just  as  cold 
as  before.  The  steamer  Georgia  was  to  come  in  that  night 
and  was  to  leave  at  midnight  for  Haines  on  her  southward 
trip.  If  I  only  could  get  to  Haines,  I  would  be  all  right. 
So  I  went  down  under  the  warehouse  and  tried  to  catch 
some  sleep  but  the  rats  ran  over  my  legs  and  one  bit  my 
hand  and  I  hurried  out  of  the  infernal  place.  I  wished  that 
I  were  a  rat  and  had  a  nice  warm  place  in  the  rock  where 
I  could  live  away  from  the  rain  and  the  storm. 

I  hovered  unsuccessfully  around  the  warehouse,  trying 
to  find  a  warm  place  till  the  Georgia  came  in.  She  was 
to  leave  again  in  an  hour.  The  passengers  walked  up  the 
long  dock  and  I  followed,  for  I  was  cold  and  I  wanted  to 
be  with  people.  But,  once  in  town,  they  dwindled  away  into 
hotels  and  restaurants  and  I  was  alone  again.  I  walked 
aimlessly  around  and  presently  went  back  to  the  boat  again. 
There  was  no  one  on  deck  and  I  silently  boarded  her  and, 
lifting  the  canvas  cover  from  one  of  the  lifeboats,  I  crav/led 
in  out  of  sight.  I  found  that  there  was  water  in  the  bottom 
of  the  boat  and  it  wasn't  very  comfortable,  as  I  had  to  lie 
across  two  seats  and  I  was  wet  besides.  Still,  I  couldn't  do 
any  better,  and  once  the  boat  was  under  way,  I  could  get 
out  and  walk  around,  and  even  if  they  did  see  me,  I'd  get 
to  Haines,  whither  I  was  bound.  The  whistle  blew  and  the 
outgoing  passengers  boarded  her.    There  were  some  v/omen 


64  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

among  them  and  they  came  and  stood  close  beside  the  boat 
in  which  I  was  hiding.  I  was  becoming  so  stiff  and  sore 
that  I  changed  my  position  and  as  I  moved,  one  of  them 
heard  me  or  saw  me  under  the  canvas  and  she  screamed. 
A  man  rushed  up  and  tore  the  canvas  back. 

"What  the  devil  are  you  doing  there?"  he  said.  "Come 
out  of  that." 

I  crawled  out  and  a  sorry  sight  I  was,  shivering  and  shak- 
ing like  a  leaf,  with  my  torn  clothes  hanging  wet  from  my 
shoulders. 

"Where  did  you  come  on  board  ?"  the  man  demanded,  and 
I  saw  he  was  the  captain. 

"Here  in  Skagway,"  I  answered.  "I  am  wet,  cold  and 
hungry,  broke  and  out  of  a  job.  Won't  you  let  me  stay 
on  as  far  as  Haines  ?    That  is  as  far  as  I  v/ant  to  go." 

I  must  have  been  a  disgusting  sight,  a  big  husky  man 
shaking  like  a  dog  and  begging  for  a  ride. 

"You've  been  boozing,"  the  captain  said.  "Go  ashore 
and  don't  you  try  to  come  on  board  again,  or  I'll  have  you 
arrested." 

I  bowed  my  head  and  walked  over  the  gangplank.  "It 
sure  is  hell,"  I  swore.  "What  can  I  do?"  I  started  back 
toward  the  town.  By  the  comer  of  the  dock,  bobbing 
up  and  down  on  the  waves,  tied  by  a  long  rope,  there  was 
a  skiff  and  I  had  an  idea.  "I'll  row  to  Haines,"  I  said, 
and  that  made  me  think  of  a  lot  of  other  things  that  I 
could  do.  A  sudden  wild  impulse  seized  me.  I  remembered 
a  grocer's  window  that  I  had  looked  into.  There  had  been 
bacon,  canned  meats  and  biscuits  and  candy  galore.  My 
mouth  had  watered  at  the  sight  and  I  had  hurried  away. 
Now  I  hurried  back  toward  the  store.  I  would  eat.  I 
would  not  starve  or  beg  like  a  low  down  dog!  I  would 
eat  and  live  and  take  the  consequences.    I  hurried  up  town. 

The  night  was  dark  and  the  wind  shook  the  houses,  while 
the  rain  poured  down  in  sheets.  I  found  a  heavy  driftbolt. 
I  would  use  that  to  break  the  lock.  I  was  not  weak  any 
longer  but  active  and  alive  with  the  excitement  of  what 


A  FALSE  MOVE  65 

I  was  about  to  do.  I  felt  like  a  beast  of  prey  as  I  glided 
along  the  buildings  with  the  driftbolt  clenched  in  my  fist. 
I  was  like  a  hungry,  slinking  wolf,  alert  and  fierce.  I 
found  the  place  and  hurried  to  the  back  door.  I  found 
where  there  was  a  window.  That  was  the  way.  A  blast 
of  wind  shook  the  doors  and  windows  round  about  with 
great  force,  and  while  the  racket  lasted,  I  smashed  the 
window  with  my  bolt.  The  glass  fell  inside  with  a  clatter 
and  I  wondered  if  any  one  had  heard  it.  I  sneaked  around 
to  the  front  and  peered  up  and  down  the  street.  No  one 
was  in  sight,  so  I  slipped  back  and  picked  up  the  broken 
pieces  of  glass.  Then  I  crawled  in  and  looked  about  me. 
I  was  in  the  back  room  of  a  store.  There  were  all  kinds 
of  things  hanging  from  the  ceiling  and  piled  against  the 
walls.  My  mind  worked  fast.  First  I  got  a  gunny  sack, 
then  I  crawled  into  the  store.  I  got  a  side  of  bacon  and 
cut  it  in  two.  I  got  flour,  salt,  lard  and  hardtack,  and 
many  other  things  I  thought  of.  I  filled  my  sack  with 
grub.  Then  I  went  to  the  showcase  and  took  some  candy 
and  in  the  half  light  of  the  shaded  electric  lamp  my  eyes 
fell  on  the  cash  register.  I  crept  across  the  floor  to  it 
and  stretched  my  hand  out  to  open  it,  but  I  hesitated.  Why 
not  take  it?  I  was  stealing  grub,  why  not  money?  I 
reached  out  again  but  the  cold  metal  made  me  feel  as  if 
there  were  danger  in  opening  it.  I  felt  a  thrill  go  through 
my  body.  I  had  half  a  notion  to  leave  it.  I  needed  grub, 
not  money.  I  hadn't  come  to  steal  money.  I  pressed  the 
button  and  the  drawer  shot  out.  There  was  a  bill  there 
and  some  change.  I  took  it.  There  was  thirteen  dollars 
and  twenty-five  cents.  If  I  ever  get  where  I  can  make 
some  money,  I  shall  pay  for  everything  that  I  have  taken. 

I  left  the  store  through  the  back  door  that  was  fastened 
from  the  inside,  swung  the  sack  on  my  back,  and  ran  for  the 
dock.  The  tide  was  out  and  I  dodged  along  in  the  shadow 
of  the  piles.  The  sack  was  heavy  and  the  excitement  was 
about  to  wear  off.  I  half  wished  that  I  hadn't  done  it,  but 
it  was  too  late  to  repent  now.     It  was  done  and  it  was 


66  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

up  to  me  to  make  a  get-away  with  the  goods.  The  boat 
that  I  had  seen  by  the  corner  of  the  dock  was  left  high  and 
dry  by  the  tide.  I  cut  the  ropes  and  dragged  the  thing 
down.  There  were  oars  in  the  bottom  and  soon  I  was 
rowing  out  of  the  harbor,  out  into  the  stormy  fiord. 

As  I  got  out  from  the  shelter,  the  waves  became  higher 
and  higher  and  the  wind  came  in  great  gusts  that  threatened 
to  blow  the  light  skiff  out  of  the  water.  I  had  to  keep  close 
to  the  rocky  shore  to  get  the  shelter  of  every  protruding 
rocky  point,  I  rowed  and  rowed  with  all  my  might,  yet  I 
made  but  little  progress  against  the  wind  and  the  incoming 
tide.  Now  and  then  between  gusts  there  was  a  calm  spell 
and  I  would  row  frantically  to  make  the  best  of  it.  I 
rounded  the  first  point  and  was  out  of  sight  from  the 
town  and  I  was  thankful,  for  day  was  breaking.  I  made 
good  time  in  the  cove  but  at  the  next  point  the  wind  roared 
with  a  mighty  voice  and  the  breakers  thundered  against 
the  rocky  beach.  But  I  had  no  choice,  I  must  go  ahead,  I 
couldn't  go  back.  I  pulled  and  pulled  and  watched  the 
land  to  see  if  I  made  any  headway,  while  the  wind  tugged 
at  my  little  craft  and  wave  after  wave  banged  against  the 
bow  and  broke  over  the  top.  "By  God !"  I  yelled,  "I  can't 
go  back.  I  must  go  ahead,"  and  pulled  and  swore  like  mad. 
I  battled  there  in  the  early  dawn  with  wind  and  wave,  won- 
dering sometimes  if  I  were  sane.  My  fingers  and  arms 
ached  and  the  spray  of  the  breakers  fell  in  a  constant 
shower  over  my  back  and  shoulders.  The  storm  slacked 
a  bit  and  I  rowed  as  I  had  never  rowed  before,  past  the 
point  and  into  the  next  cove.  I  could  see  that  the  next 
point  was  harder  still  to  pass  but  there  was  no  place  to 
land  in  the  cove  I  was  in,  for  the  mountains  rose  straight 
up  from  the  beach,  so  I  had  to  keep  on,  for  I  couldn't  go 
back.  It  was  now  clear  daylight.  The  waves  broke  in 
over  the  bow  and  forced  me  back  but  I  rowed  on,  cursing, 
laughing,  yelling  like  mad.  But  I  made  the  point  and  got 
into  another  cove.  There  was  no  landing  place  there.  Only 
bare,  inhospitable  rocks  and  the  cliffs,  and  I  had  to  round 


A  FALSE  MOVE  67 

another  point.  Again  I  drove  the  bow  of  the  boat  into  the 
breakers  and  the  battle  began  anew.  Wave  after  wave 
broke  over  the  bow.  The  boat  was  getting  heavy,  it  was 
filling  up.  Oh,  the  agony  as  I  pulled  and  pulled  against 
the  hopeless  odds !  I  reached  the  point  and  could  have 
rounded  it,  but  the  boat  was  about  to  sink  so  I  had  to 
stop  rowing  to  bail  out  with  my  hat,  and  I  drifted  back  into 
the  cove  again.  Then  I  drove  her  out  into  the  storm  again, 
into  the  storm  and  battle.  I  pulled  and  pulled  and  pulled, 
and  swore  and  cried  and  yelled  in  defiance  of  the  elements. 
Finally  I  got  around  but  there  was  no  place  to  land,  only 
bare,  straight  walls.  I  had  to  go  round  the  next  point.  I 
was  plumb  crazy,  mad  with  determination  to  go  ahead 
and  not  go  back.  I  didn't  notice  that  my  boat  was  filling 
up  and  getting  water  logged,  I  just  rowed  and  swore  and 
strained  against  the  storm.  Then  a  wave  broke  over  the 
side  and  I  lost  one  of  my  oars.  I  was  perilously  near 
the  rocky  shore  and  my  boat  was  sinking  beneath  me. 

I  swung  it  around  and  faced  the  stern  to  the  beachy  for 
there  was  only  one  way  out  and  that  was  to  get  ashore. 

A  wave  lifted  my  boat  high  up  and  then  dashed  it  upon 
a  pile  of  rocks.  The  jar  sent  me  headlong  into  the  bottom 
of  the  boat  and  as  I  scrambled  to  my  knees,  my  hands  fell 
on  the  sack  of  grub.  The  skiff  was  fast  between  two  giant 
bowlders  but  every  wave  that  dashed  up  shook  it  and  tore 
at  it  to  take  it  back  out  in  the  water.  I  scurried  out, 
dragging  my  sack  onto  the  rocks,  and  the  very  next  wave 
that  came  tore  the  boat  loose  so  that  it  drifted  along  the 
shore,  bottom  up.  The  cliffs  went  straight  up  from  the 
beach  but  there  were  a  lot  of  giant  rocks  along  the  edge 
of  the  water.  The  high  tide  would  cover  these  and  it  was 
up  to  me  to  get  somewhere  before  high  tide.  So  I  started 
along,  climbing  from  rock  to  rock,  slipping  and  falling  on 
the  slimy  seaweed,  dragging  my  sack  of  grub  with  me.  In 
places  I  had  to  wade  along  in  the  water  where  the  cliffs 
rose  straight  up.  It  was  a  wonder  that  there  was  a  foot- 
hold at  all  and  that  the  crashing,  sucking  waves  did  not 


68  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

knock  me  over  and  drag  me  into  the  fiord;  but  someway 
I  got  along,  careless  and  weary  though  I  was,  I  fell  time 
after  time,  now  skinning  my.  knees  and  shins,  now  cutting 
my  hands  on  a  sharp  rock,  yet  I  got  along,  carrymg  my 
bag  full  of  grub.  I  had  no  doubt  that  the  flour  was  spoiled 
but  I  didn't  stop  to  investigate  till  I  reached  a  cove  where 
I  could  get  up  into  the  brush  away  from  the  tide,  the 
wind  and  the  eyes  of  passers-by  who  might  be  looking 
for  me. 

I  was  all  in  and  so  tired  that  I  didn't  care  to  eat.  I  tried 
to  sleep  but  the  cold  began  to  shake  my  wet  body  and 
cramps  to  knot  my  muscles.  I  felt  that  I  must  eat  and 
keep  going  till  I  found  some  place  where  I  could  build 
a  fire  and  camp  and  rest  without  being  afraid  of  being 
seen  by  the  men  who  were,  no  doubt,  looking  for  me. 

I  ate  some  biscuit  (they  were  not  as  wet  as  I  had  im- 
agined) and  a  can  of  meat  and  drank  a  can  of  milk.  Then 
I  felt  better  and  my  face  began  to  bum  and  my  pulses 
to  throb.  I  sorted  the  grub  and  cached  part  of  it  under  a 
log  where  it  would  be  dry.  Some  of  it  was  spoiled  but  in 
an  emergency  I  could  use  it,  so  I  cached  it  safely  away. 
The  rest  I  made  into  a  pack  and  started  along  the  beach. 
The  sky  cleared  and  the  sun  came  out,  but  still  the  wind 
kept  blowing  and  I  knew  that  I  was  tolerably  safe  along 
the  beach,  for  no  one  would  venture  out  on  the  fiord  in 
such  a  wind  and  sea. 

I  found  a  good  place  to  build  a  fire  and  had  another 
feed,  and  after  sleeping  a  few  hours,  I  was  almost  myself 
again  and  none  the  worse  for  my  experience  except  for  a 
few  cuts  and  bruises.  Then  I  started  out  again  along  the 
beach.  Toward  evening  I  came  to  a  creek  that  came  out 
of  a  deep  canyon.  Up  it  I  went  and  found  a  nice  place 
under  a  great,  leaning  spruce  tree  where  the  ground  was 
dry,  and  here  I  am  now,  a  fugitive  from  justice,  and  it's 
all  of  my  own  making.  I  do  wish  that  I  could  undo  what 
I  have  done  but  there's  no  chance  of  that  for  a  while. 
Not  till  I  can  earn  some  money  and  send  it  to  the  man  that 


A  FALSE  MOVE  69 

owns  the  store.  I  still  have  her  ring  on  my  finger  and  it  is 
a  great  comfort  to  me,  the  only  thing  that  tells  me  that  she 
is  real  and  not  a  dream.  But  if  she  thinks  I  have  for- 
feited my  right  to  it,  I  shall  send  it  back  to  her  when  I 
can.  It  is  nice  and  comfy  here  and  I  would  like  to  stay 
but  that  cannot  be.    I  must  go  onward  to  somewhere. 


In  jail,  Skagway,  Alaska, 
Sept.  2,  1914. 

The  inevitable  has  happened.  I  am  in  jail.  The  thing 
that  I  have  run  away  from,  dodged  and  escaped  time  and 
again,  has  finally  caught  up  with  me  and  engulfed  me,  and 
I  am  a  prisoner.  The  heavy  thud  of  the  iron  barred  door 
has  sounded  behind  me,  and  the  clatter  and  clang  of  bolts 
and  locks  have  sealed  my  doom.  I  am  caught!  A  criminal 
in  prison ! 

I  spent  the  night,  two  nights  ago,  walking  the  beach  and 
climbing  the  cliffs  where  they  rose  straight  up  from  the 
water.  I  was  on  my  way  toward  Haines.  I  was  on  the 
wrong  side  of  the  fiord  but  I  thought  that  perhaps  I  could 
make  a  raft  of  logs  and  paddle  across  the  five  miles  of 
Lynn  Canal  when  I  reached  the  place  that  was  opposite 
the  town.  I  had  slept  well  during  the  day  and  now  I 
was  using  the  darkness  to  make  sure  I  wouldn't  be  seen. 
It  started  to  rain  again  during  the  night  and  the  brush 
was  wet  and  slippery,  so  I  often  slipped  and  fell  head- 
long among  the  thorns  and  devilclubs.  It  was  a  good 
thing  the  moon  came  out,  for  in  the  darkness  I  could  never 
have  made  it.  I  climbed  up  on  high  benches  where  the 
walking  was  good,  through  open  timber,  then  I'd  have  to 
go  down  to  the  beach  again  and  up  and  down,  up  and 
down  all  night  long. 

At  the  break  of  day,  I  came  to  where  a  mountain  stream 
tumbled  down  a  rocky  gorge.  There  was  no  way  to  cross 
near  the  beach,  so  I  followed  up  the  canyon,  but  as  far  as 
I  could  see  there  was  no  place  where  a  man  might  ford. 
Up  on  a  high  cliff  stood  some  dead  burnt  spruce  trees.    I 


70  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

selected  a  long  pole  and  placed  it  across  the  creek  where 
it  ran  through  a  small  box  canyon,  and  then  I  crawled  over 
the  bending,  swaying  pole  a  hundred  feet  above  the  rushing 
mountain  stream.  I  was  careless,  awfully  careless,  yet, 
somehow  I  didn't  care.  What  if  I  should  fall  and  die? 
It  wouldn't  be  so  bad.  I  was  only  a  criminal  running  away 
from  the  consequences  of  my  crime.  I  wouldn't  be  the 
first  one  to  have  died  out  in  the  woods  all  alone.  The 
thought  gave  me  some  comfort ;  just  to  lie  down  and  sleep 
and  wake  no  more  to  struggle  on. 

I  reached  the  beach  again  and  stepped  along  from  rock 
to  rock.  Ahead  a  mountain  rose  straight  up  from  the 
water  a  thousand  feet  or  more  into  the  low  hanging  clouds. 
I  had  to  climb  again  to  pass  it.  Up  and  up  and  up  I 
climbed,  through  brush  and  forest.  It  seemed  as  if  I'd 
never  get  there.  I  tried  to  walk  along  the  side  of  the 
mountain  but  a  straight  cliff  stopped  me  and  I  had  to  keep 
on  up  through  the  misty  clouds  that  hung  like  veils  in  the 
tops  of  the  trees  and  over  the  canyons.  It  must  have 
been  a  thousand  feet  or  more  to  the  top  of  that  cliff. 

When  I  finally  reached  the  top  I  found  a  narrow  trail 
running  along  and  I  saw  tracks  of  fox  and  wolf  and  bear. 
It  was  the  thoroughfare  of  all  the  animals  that  passed 
along  that  way,  for  a  little  way  back  another  cliff  rose 
straight  up  for  another  thousand  feet.  I  felt  as  if  I  were 
one  of  them,  just  an  animal  moving  along.  Just  a  bit 
of  vagrant  life  without  a  den,  moving  ever  on  and  on.  It 
seemed  ages  since  I  had  left  the  town.  It  seemed  so 
very  far  away  and  I  felt  more  at  home  where  I  was.  The 
trees,  the  brush,  the  moss,  everything  around  me  was  life. 
I  felt  as  if  I  belonged  to  it,  and  it  to  me.  At  one  place  I 
lay  down  on  the  soft  moss,  crawled  to  the  edge,  and  looked 
down  over  the  cliff  a  thousand  feet  above  the  fiord.  I  had 
then  an  almost  irresistible  desire  to  throw  myself  off"  into 
the  wild  and  wondrous  beauty  of  it.  The  long  fiord 
stretched  below  me,  the  golden  yellow  of  the  autumn  leaves, 
newly  turned,  the  dark,  spruce-clad  mountainside  where  the 


A  FALSE  MOVE  71 

mist  hung  in  the  treetops  like  monster  spider  webs,  and 
the  banks  of  fog  floating  along  the  cliffs  like  phantom 
ships  upon  the  breeze. 

I  could  look  over  to  Haines.  A  boat  was  leaving  there, 
steaming  south.  I  wondered  if  I  would  ever  get  to  go 
south,  too.  I  thought  I  didn't  care.  I  thought  I'd  rather 
live  and  die  the  way  I  was  there  in  the  woods.  Life  didn't 
seem  so  much.  To  die,  to  die  floating  on  the  breeze,  die 
falling  through  the  clouds  to  sweet  oblivion.  I  was  filled 
with  a  wild  desire  to  float  upon  the  breeze  like  the  mists 
below.  It  was  madness  but  such  alluring  madness !  I  tore 
myself  loose  from  the  spell  that  held  me  and  backed  away 
from  the  edge,  back  to  where  I  could  only  see  the  trees  and 
the  moss  and  the  sky,  and  then  I  was  soon  on  my  way 
again  along  the  age  old  trail.  It  was  cold  up  there  and 
wet,  and  I  couldn't  lie  down  but  had  to  keep  on  going  to 
keep  warm.  The  trail  led  up  over  a  hump  of  rocks  and 
then  down  into  a  valley  through  a  long,  deep  gorge  that 
was  filled  with  underbrush.  The  raindrops  hung  like 
berries  on  the  bushes  and  I  received  a  shower  bath  every 
time  I  touched  one,  yet  I  couldn't  get  much  wetter  than  I 
was,  so  I  plunged  recklessly  down  the  canyon.  About  half 
way  down  there  was  a  widening  in  the  gorge  and  there  a 
spruce  tree  spread  down  its  limbs,  forming  a  hut  around  its 
base  that  was  dry.  I  built  a  fire  and  ate  and  rested.  But 
I  was  anxious  so  I  moved  on  before  very  long. 

Down  in  the  valley  a  mountain  stream  again  barred  my 
way.  I  tried  to  wade  across  it  but  it  was  too  deep  and 
swift  and  I  had  to  go  up  along  its  bank,  trying  to  find  a 
place  to  ford.  I  came  on  the  animal  trail  that  I  had  been 
following  and  it  led  me  up  the  bank  of  the  creek  to  a 
small  bench  with  an  eddy  and  a  pool.  A  tree  had  fallen 
across  here  a  long,  long  time  ago,  and  many  animals  had 
crossed  on  it.  It  was  only  a  small  tree  and  the  limbs  had 
all  rotted  away.  There  was  a  waterfall  above  and  a  water- 
fall below  that  was  a  hundred  feet  high  or  more,  and  the 
air  was  so  full  of  foam  and  water  spray  that  the  eight 


^2  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

inch  log  looked  as  it  if  were  floating.  The  constant  roar 
was  deafening.  I  hesitated  to  walk  across  the  Ic^,  slippery 
from  being  always  wet,  but  there  was  no  other  way,  so  I 
had  to  do  it.  On  the  middle  I  slipped  and  fell,  grabbing 
hold  of  the  log  with  hands  and  legs,  and  there  I  hung  under 
it,  the  rushing  water  tugging  at  my  pack,  my  finger  nails 
trying  to  dig  into  the  log  to  hold  me  fast.  There  were  only 
a  few  feet  to  the  waterfall  below  and  I  didn't  dare  to  let 
go  and  take  a  chance  of  getting  to  the  other  bank  through 
the  water.  It  couldn't  be  done,  because  the  bottom  of  the 
creek  was  solid  rock  worn  smooth  by  rushing  waters.  The 
log  was  slimy  and  I  didn't  dare  try  to  get  a  new  hold  for 
fear  I  would  altogether  lose  the  one  I  had.  I  felt  myself 
grow  weaker.  What  was  the  use,  anyway?  It  would  only 
be  a  minute,  then  sleep,  rest,  oblivion.  Why  not?  I  tried 
to  think  of  why  not,  and  then  I  thought  of  her.  My  face 
was  near  the  hand  where  her  dear  ring  encircled  my  finger. 
Would  I  give  up  before  I  knew  that  she  could  never  be  my 
friend  again?  No,  I  must  do  something.  A  stump  of  limb 
was  about  four  feet  from  my  hand.  If  I  could  reach  it, 
maybe  I  could  get  across.  I  let  go  with  one  hand,  holding 
myself  up  with  the  other,  and  felt  along  the  log  to  find 
a  crack  or  knot  hole  that  would  serve  for  a  hold.  I  sank 
lower  and  lower,  my  other  arm  giving  out.  The  muscles  in 
it  began  to  quiver  and  jerk.  I  couldn't  hold  on  any  longer. 
I  clawed  at  the  log  with  my  finger  nails;  they  sank  in. 
There  was  a  rotten  place  and  it  held.  I  reached  for  the 
limb  and  shinned  my  legs  along  and  soon  I  was  on  the  other 
side  of  the  stream,  away  from  all  danger.  My  finger  nails 
were  broken  back  and  the  blood  was  gushing  out  from 
under  them.  I  hadn't  noticed  it  while  I  was  hanging  there. 
I  tore  my  shirt  and  bandaged  my  hands,  all  the  while  won- 
dering why  it  was  that  I  did  not  fall  down  that  waterfall. 
I  wondered  why  I,  who  always  swear  and  damn  and  curse 
whenever  I  meet  obstacles,  invariably  manage  to  get  out  of 
the  dangers  I  get  into.  I  wondered  where  I  got  my 
strength.    My  strength !    Indeed,  I  have  to  laugh.    I  was  not 


A  FALSE  MOVE  73, 

strong  but  weak,  so  weak  that  my  knees  were  trembling, 
while  my  finger  nails,  broken  back  in  the  middle,  were  ach- 
ing and  bleeding.  My  strength!  What  a  mockery!  I 
almost  wished  I  had  let  myself  go  that  time.  It  would 
have  been  all  over  by  now.  No  more  cold,  no  more  pain, 
no  more  wet. 

Yet  I  went  down  through  the  woods  to  the  beach  below. 
There  was  a  pile  of  huge  rocks  that  had  tumbled  down 
from  the  mountain.  They  formed  a  cave,  deep  and  narrow 
and  dry  inside.  Also,  it  was  out  of  sight  from  Lynn  Canal. 
A  better  place  to  rest  I  could  never  find,  so  I  gathered  some 
wood,  built  a  fire  and  went  to  sleep.  My  body  rested  but 
not  my  mind.  It  wandered  back  over  the  road  I  had  come. 
I  stumble  over  the  rocks  on  the  beach,  up  over  the  moun- 
tain, down  the  gorge  to  the  stream  and  over  across  the  log 
again.  I  fall  and  hang  in  awful  suspense,  the  water  tugging 
at  my  pack,  my  fingers  painfully  digging  into  the  wood.  I 
am  hanging  helpless.  Oh,  what  strained,  agonizing  pain! 
I  am  freezing  stiflf  hanging  there  paralyzed  with  fear.  I 
hear  the  thunder  of  the  waterfall  below.  What  dreadful 
death  awaits  me  there!  I  feel  my  arms  give  way.  I  am 
sinking  lower,  lower;  the  water  tugs  at  my  pack  and  back. 
It  chills  me  through.  My  hands  let  go.  I  am  falling,  fall- 
ing! 

I  woke  and  looked  about.  The  fire  was  down  to  embers 
and  my  teeth  were  chattering.  I  got  some  wood  and 
brought  it  back  to  roaring  life  again.    Then  I  slept. 

A  noise  awoke  me  and  I  saw  that  three  men  stood  peering 
in  at  me  through  the  smoke.  I  looked  around  for  some 
way  to  escape,  but  I  was  in  there  and  they  were  at  the  only 
entrance.  I  walked  out  and  saw  that  they  carried  guns. 
There  was  a  white  man  and  two  Indians. 

"How  are  you  ?"  greeted  the  white  man,  looking  me  over 
from  head  to  foot.    "What  may  you  be  doing  here  ?" 

"I'm  resting,"  I  answered.  T  have  been  prospecting  up 
in  the  mountains.  Just  came  down  to-day.  I  was  lost  for 
a  short  while.    I  am  going  to  Skagway  in  a  few  days." 


.^■■fi-  '1  n 


i.ite»cij»»»L*«i^(i_j,i-w:-fe'».i.'tte.''!)^j>jja.Mj'.i''  ^t?!  rz 


74  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

'This  is  a  queer  way  to  be  prospecting,"  the  man  said. 
"Where  is  your  boat?" 

"What  do  I  want  with  a  boat  away  up  in  the  moun- 
tains?" 

The  man  looked  me  over  again.  "You're  cold  and  wet," 
he  said.  "You'd  better  let  me  give  you  a  ride  to  Skag- 
way." 

"No,  thank  you,"  I  said  with  a  smile.  "There's  a  quartz 
ledge  up  on  that  hill  that  I  want  to  take  a  look  at  first 
Don't  bother  about  me,  I'm  all  right.  I'll  get  to  Skagway 
by  and  by." 

The  man  looked  about  impatiently.  "Look  here,"  he 
said  sternly  and  showed  me  a  badge  on  his  vest.  "I'm  the 
U.  S.  Marshal  and  I  want  to  search  your  camp." 

"Go  ahead,"  said  I.  "Search  all  you  want  to."  I  looked 
around  at  the  Indians  to  see  if  there  was  any  way  at  all 
to  get  away.  They  stood  at  a  respectful  distance  and  had 
their  rifles  ready  and  pointed  in  my  direction.  There  was 
no  way  except  to  try  a  bluff. 

The  Marshal  found  my  pack  and  opened  it.  "How 
long,"  said  he,  "have  you  been  out  of  town?  Where  did 
you  buy  this  grub?  This  is  not  the  kind  of  grub  a  pros- 
pector carries  around  in  the  woods.  You  may  not  be  the 
man  I  want,  but  this  looks  mighty  queer.  You'll  have  to 
come  to  Skagway  with  us  and  if  you  are  not  the  man, 
we'll  take  you  back  here  if  you  wish  it." 

"No,  no,"  I  protested.  "I  want  to  stay  right  here.  I'm. 
going  to  stake  a  claim  out  on  yonder  mountain.  I  have 
been  out  about  a  week,  if  you  want  to  know,  and  as  to  my 
grub,  I  guess  I  can  carry  the  kind  of  grub  that  I  want." 
I  looked  steadily  at  him.  "I'll  stay  right  here  and  mind  my 
own  business,  see." 

"Come  now,  my  man,"  the  Marshall  said  with  great  au- 
thority, "that  won't  do.  You'll  have  to  come,  there  are 
three  of  us.    I  g^ess  you'll  come."    He  laughed. 

The  Indians  came  a  little  closer  and  I  knew  that  the 
game  was  up.    "All  right,  I'll  go  along,"  I  said,  and  crawled 


A  FALSE  MOVE  75 

down  through  the  woods  to  the  beach  where  their  boat  was 
moored  against  a  rock.  I  kept  on  the  alert  for  a  chance  to 
escape. 

On  board  the  boat  I  became  sullen  and  morose.  My  head 
was  fairly  splitting  with  a  headache.  What  did  I  care, 
anyway?  I  was  tired  and  sick.  My  fingers  ached  agoniz- 
ingly. I  was  miserable.  What  did  I  care  what  became  of 
me  ?  It  couldn't  be  much  worse  than  what  I  was  suffering 
just  then. 

We  reached  Skagway  in  the  evening  and  the  Marshall 
took  me  up  to  the  jail.  There  they  searched  my  clothes 
and  took  everything  away  from  me,  except  my  diary  note- 
book. They  let  me  keep  that,  strange  as  it  may  seem.  If 
they  had  opened  it  and  read,  they  would  have  had  the 
whole  miserable  story  to  use  against  me.  They  shoved  me 
into  the  cage.  Then  came  the  heavy  thud  of  the  door,  the 
rattle  and  clang  of  the  lock  and  bar,  and  I  was  in  jail. 

My  head  was  thumping  as  if  it  were  about  to  burst.  I 
was  sick  and  broken,  down  and  out.  I  was  at  the  bottom 
of  the  pit,  I  crawled  into  a  bunk  in  one  of  the  cells  and 
faded  away. 

Oh,  blissful  sleep  that  takes  away  the  horrible  realities  of 
life  and  gives  man  the  strength  he  has  lost  and  soothes  his 
mind  with  tender  dreams !  I  dreamed  I  saw  the  place  I  call 
my  home.  I  saw  my  girl — the  sweet  beauty  of  her  sun- 
bathed cheeks !  She  put  her  hand  upon  my  brow.  It  was 
cool  and  soft.  I  wept  as  in  a  deep  sorrow,  my  head  upon 
her  breast. 

"Oh,  Svend,"  she  cried,  "do  not  weep.  All  will  be  well. 
All  is  grist,  Svend,  all  is  grist  that  goes  to  the  mill.  All 
your  sorrows,  trials  and  hurts  are  but  the  material  for  a 
better  life,  a  better  life  for  you  and  me."  I  fell  asleep  on 
her  loving  breast  and  slept  in  peace. 

Something  rattled  and  I  woke  up  to  the  realization  of  my 
plight.  I  was  in  jail!  The  jailer  rattled  his  keys  against 
the  bars.  "Get  up  for  breakfast,"  he  shouted,  and  I  rolled 
out.     The  barred  windows  made  me  shiver.     I  am  caught 


76  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

and  caged,  I  thought.  The  solid  walls  and  iron  bars !  The 
things  I  always  dreaded!  I  had  a  desire  to  dash  against 
the  door  and  try  to  break  it  but  the  jailer  stood  there,  eye- 
ing  me  curiously.  My  food  was  brought  and  shoved 
through  a  wicket  in  the  door.  I  ate  it  ravenously,  for  I  was 
very  hungry.  Then  I  looked  about  me.  The  place  was 
clean;  the  blankets  I  had  slept  in  were  warm  and  new. 
There  was  a  heater  in  the  center  of  the  cage  and  a  brisk 
fire  was  burning  there.  Another  prisoner  came  in.  I  eyed 
the  door  with  thoughts  of  making  a  dash  for  it,  but  the 
jailer  closed  it  in  a  hurry. 

The  other  man  was  short  and  old,  rather  craven  looking, 
with  a  fat,  greasy  face  and  small,  piggish  eyes.  "What  are 
you  in  for  ?"  he  asked. 

"Don't  know,"  said  I. 

"Burglary,  the  jailer  said  it  was,"  he  volunteered,  but  I 
didn't  answer. 

Burglary,  I  thought.  I'm  a  burglar.  The  window  bars 
filled  me  with  a  panicky  dread.  I  paced  round  the  cage 
and  thought  of  how  I  had  seen  animals  in  the  Zoo  pacing 
back  and  forth  just  like  that. 

The  jailer  came  with  the  Marshal.  They  handcuffed  me 
and  took  me  up  in  the  building  to  a  room  where  several  per- 
sons were  assembled. 

The  Marshal  stated  how  he  had  found  me,  and  the  man 
who  owned  the  store  I  had  robbed  stated  that  the  grub  in 
the  sack  had  come  from  his  store.  The  lettering  on  my 
piece  of  bacon  fitted  the  half  that  had  been  left  in  the  store. 
Then  they  asked  me  how  I  came  to  have  the  stuff  and  I  told 
the  whole  truth  from  beginning  to  end. 

Burglary  and  grand  larceny,  they  called  it,  and  the  judge 
Said  that  he  could  not  sentence  me,  but  would  have  to  send 
me  to  Juneau,  bound  over  for  the  grand  jury,  or  something 
like  that. 

They  took  me  down  to  the  cage  again  and  locked  me  up. 
I  didn't  know  what  it  meant  to  be  bound  over  for  the  grand 
jury  so  I  asked  the  other  prisoner. 


^I^^^***^^— i^^^fci^^w  —  ^  rf«  »  ^m 


A  FALSE  MOVE  ^y 

"YouT!  go  to  Juneau,"  he  grinned.  "You'll  get  five 
years." 

Five  years  like  this !  A  beast  locked  up  in  a  cage !  I  am 
not  fit  to  live  free  in  society,  so  they  will  keep  me  locked  up 
for  five  years.  The  barred  windows  fill  me  with  a  wild 
madness.  I  feel  like  a  beast  and  I  don't  think  I  shall  stay 
here  very  long,  I  know  that  I  shall  die,  or  go  crazy,  if 
they  keep  me  locked  up  like  this.  I  don't  know  how  I'll  get 
out  but  I  can't  stay  here. 


CHAPTER  X 

ACROSS  THE  GLACIER 

Pleasant  Camp,  Alaska. 
Sept.  8,  1914. 

IT  seems  a  long  time  since  I  wrote  anything  in  my  diary. 
I  have  many  things  that  I  ought  to  write  down  while 
they  are  still  fresh  in  my  memory  and  the  pain  and 
danger  are  present  and  vivid  to  me.  At  night  in  jail  I 
planned  and  planned  and  planned.  I  would  try  to  escape 
the  next  day.  .1  was  now  strong  again  and  could  stand  an- 
other dash  through  the  mountains.  I  would  rush  the  jailer 
when  he  opened  the  door,  pull  him  in  and  lock  him  up,  or 
take  his  gun  and  run.  I  would  not,  could  not,  live  like  this, 
locked  up  like  a  beast.  Fd  rather  die.  So  I  planned  and 
planned  all  night  long. 

In  the  morning  the  jailer  came  and  called  through  the 
wicket  in  the  door.  "Jake,"  he  called.  "Oh,  Jake,  it's  time 
to  get  up  and  build  the  fire.  Oh,  Jake !"  Jake  was  dead 
to  the  world. 

"Damn  that  man,"  he  swore,  and  opening  the  door,  came 
into  the  cage  to  shake  him  in  his  cell. 

I  stood  all  ready  with  my  coat  and  hat  on.  My  cell  door 
was  half  open.  Now  was  the  time!  I  leaped  out  and 
passed  him  in  a  flash.  There  was  a  crash  and  the  door  was 
closed  behind  me.  I  turned  the  key  and  peeped  through 
the  wicket  in  the  door.  The  jailer  was  standing  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  floor,  turning  bewilderedly,  yelling,  "Jake,  Jake, 
Jake,  Jake,  Jake,"  pulling  at  his  gun  in  his  hip  pocket.  I 
didn't  wait  to  see  if  he  got  it  out  but  ran  as  fast  as  I  could 
through  the  corridor  and  out  into  the  yard.  I  ran  around 
the  building  and  across  a  small  creek,  then  across  the  rail- 

78 


ACROSS  THE  GLACIER  79 

road  tracks  and  up  the  mountainside.  The  brush  closed  in 
around  me  and  covered  my  way.  I  was  free  once  more! 
One  doesn't  realize  what  freedom  is  till  one  has  been  in  a 
cage. 

I  ran  up  the  bench  a  couple  of  miles,  then  down  the  moun- 
tainside again  and  slunk  across  the  valley  through  the  brush 
like  a  hungry  coyote. 

I  had  to  cross  the  Skagway  river  and  I  didn't  dare  go  over 
one  of  the  bridges,  so  I  selected  a  spot  where  I  could  not 
be  seen  from  the  town,  and  plunged  in,  now  swimming, 
now  stumbling  over  the  stony  bottom.  Once  on  the  other 
side,  after  a  swift  survey  of  the  opposite  bank  to  be  sure 
no  one  had  seen  me,  I  crawled  into  the  thick  brush,  found 
a  good  place  to  sit  down,  and  there  I  pulled  off  my  clothes, 
wrung  them  out,  and  put  them  back  on  again.  Then  I  ran 
again  through  the  brush  and  over  an  unfrequented  trail 
that  goes  to  Dyea. 

In  the  Dyea  valley  I  again  had  a  river  to  cross  but  it  only 
reached  above  my  knees  a  bit,  so  that  was  easy.  I  had 
selected  this  route  to  Haines  because  it  is  the  most  impos- 
sible one.  In  fact,  it  is  one  that  the  Indians  in  the  country 
say  cannot  be  made,  as  steep  mountains  and  glaciers  bar 
the  way.  I  have  many  times  wanted  to  see  if  this  could  be 
done  and  I  figured  that  they  would  never  look  for  me  along 
there.  I  moved  slowly  through  the  brush,  over  the  logs 
and  across  small  creeks.  Where  there  were  open  glades  in 
the  timber  I  crawled  on  hands  and  knees  for  fear  I  might 
be  seen  by  some  one.  I  felt  like  a  wild  animal  in  the  jungle. 
Then  I  heard  the  baying  of  dogs  near  by  and  the  hair  stood 
up  on  the  back  of  my  neck.  I  wondered  if  they  were  hunt- 
ing me.  I  crawled  ahead  through  the  blueberry  bushes  on 
my  hands  and  knees.  Then  I  came  to  a  trail  and  I  cursed 
myself  for  not  lying  still  when  I  had  first  heard  the  dogs.  It 
is  the  old  White  Pass  trail,  I  thought,  and  then  there  was 
a"  noise  right  ahead  of  me.  I  ducked  down  and  crawled 
back  into  the  brush.  I  head  a  loud  growl  and  two  big  dogs 
came  rushing  through  the  brush  toward  me.    I  sat  up  on  my 


8o  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

haunches  and  glared  at  them.  "Mush  on,  you  brutes,"  I 
snapped  out  at  them,  for  it  would  never  do  to  let  them  think 
that  I  was  afraid.  "Mush  on,  chuck,  beat  it,  you  curs," 
but  the  dogs  circled  round  me  and  growled  and  barked. 
A  man  came  along  the  trail.  I  could  see  him  but  he  could 
not  see  me,  for  I  was  behind  some  brush.  "Here,"  he  yelled, 
"Towser,  Queen !  Come  away  from  that  porcupine."  The 
dogs  barked  on.  Then  the  man  fired  his  gun  and  the  dogs 
rushed  away  from  me.  The  man  passed  and  I  crawled 
along  through  the  brush  till  I  was  out  of  sight,  and  then  I 
ran  as  fast  as  I  could  up  the  trail  to  get  as  far  as  possible 
from  those  infernal  hounds,  even  though  they  were  not 
hunting  me. 

I  left  the  trail  and  struck  up  the  side  of  the  first  moun- 
tain range  I  had  to  cross  to  get  to  Haines.  It  was  a  very 
steep  mountain  but  I  found  a  wooded  gulch  that  made  a 
gap  in  the  wall  and  up  I  climbed.  I  felt  as  if  I'd  love  to 
live  up  there,  just  browsing  along  in  the  mountains.  A  bear 
must  be  a  happy  cuss,  I  thought,  when  all  he  has  to  do  is 
to  mosey  around  and  feed  all  the  time,  and  when  winter 
comes,  just  crawl  into  a  hole  and  sleep.  Why  was  I  not  a 
bear?  Up  and  up  I  climbed  through  thick  forests  of  spruce 
and  jack  pine  with  undergrowth  of  tangled  blueberry  bushes. 
I  ate  continuously  from  right  and  left  as  I  worked  my  way 
through.  There  were  blueberries,  raspberries,  salmonber- 
ries,  cranberries  and  huckleberries.  There  were  plenty  of 
bear  signs  and  I  expected  to  come  upon  one  any  moment, 
yet  I  was  not  a  bit  afraid.  It  seemed  to  me  that  bears  were 
friends  compared  to  what  I  was  getting  away  from.  My 
way  led  up  through  long  thickets  of  alders  and  longer  steep 
meadows  of  high  wet  grass.  The  alder  thickets  grew  fewer 
and  soon  there  was  only  grass  and  moss,  with  here  and 
there  a  stunted,  low  spread  scrub  pine.  I  was  wet  to  the 
skin  from  the  dew  covered  brush  and  grass,  yet  I  was  not 
cold  but  fairly  warm  and  comfortable  from  the  great  exer- 
tion of  climbing. 

Now  the  great  cliffs  stood  straight  and  black  out  of  the 


ACROSS  THE  GLACIER  8i 

grassy  slopes  like  giant  guardsmen,  with  steep  meadows  of 
moss  and  grass  between,  like  green-gold  streets  that  led 
straight  to  heaven.  Gophers  and  marmots  came  out  and 
peeped  at  me,  whistled  and  disappeared  in  their  holes. 
They  called  from  hole  to  hole  and  colony  to  colony,  telling 
of  my  approach.  Had  I  only  had  a  gun,  I  would  have  had 
meat  for  supper.  Supper?  Yes  indeed!  The  sun  had 
passed  across  the  sky  and  now  hung  low  in  the  west  over 
the  peaks  towards  which  I  was  making.  I  passed  den  after 
den  of  marmots  and  they  came  out  and  sat  on  their 
haunches,  staring  at  me  like  prairie  dogs.  Grouse  flew  up 
in  flocks  ahead  and  around  me  and  I  became  violently  hun- 
gry when  I  thought  of  all  the  juicy  meat  so  plentiful  about 
me.  I  felt  as  if  I  were  a  degenerate  animal  without  a  hole  to 
crawl  into,  or  a  nest  or  a  nice  limb  to  sit  on  and  sleep,  and 
not  even  able  to  use  the  food  that  was  all  about  me  in  abun- 
dance.   Yes,  I  was  a  man  and  couldn't  live  without  my  tools. 

The  climbing  was  growing  more  difficult  as  the  evening 
progressed.  There  were  steep,  rocky  gorges  where  small 
torrents  came  splashing  down  in  countless  cascades,  and 
there  were  long,  steep  rock  slides  that  were  liable  to  begin 
sliding  any  time  and  grind  one  who  happened  to  be  upon 
them,  to  atoms.  I  reached  the  snow  line  and  wound  my 
way  between  the  long  patches  of  snow,  often  in  mud  up 
over  my  ankles.  The  temperature  was  getting  low  and  the 
wind  blew  in  chilly  blasts  from  the  glacier  covered  barrens 
above.  But  the  cold  did  not  bother  me  much,  for  the 
mountain  was  still  steep  and  I  was  still  strong  and  had 
energy  to  keep  warm.  I  knew  that  the  night  was  near  and 
I  wanted  to  get  to  the  top  of  the  range  where  I  could  look 
down  upon  the  Dyasenki  glacier  which  I  had  to  cross,  so 
I  hurried  up  the  muddy  rocky  lanes  between  the  snow  and 
monster  cliffs  and  reached  a  place  where  there  was  nothing 
but  rock  and  ice  and  snow.  It  wasn't  steep  but  sloped  gently 
to  the  black  and  white  peaks  that  marked  the  top  of  the 
range. 

It  began  to  grow  dark  but  I  could  see  the  reflection  of  the 


82  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

sun's  descent  and  could  keep  on  in  the  right  direction.  A 
strong  wind  blew  up;  banks  of  fog  drifted  in  from  nowhere 
and  a  drizzly  rain  began  to  fall.  The  clouds  shut  out  what 
light  I  had,  and  left  me  with  only  the  southwesterly  wind  to 
guide  by.  It  was  dangerous  to  walk  along  after  I  could  see 
no  more,  for  there  were  great  cracks  in  the  ice  and  I  never 
knew  what  moment  I  would  fall  down  some  precipice  to 
death.  Still,  I  couldn't  lie  down  on  the  snow  or  ice,  so  I 
had  to  keep  on  and  try  to  find  some  sheltering  rock  or  cliff 
to  cuddle  in  behind. 

There  were  patches  of  rocky,  slushy,  muddy  snow  where 
I  stumbled  and  fell  repeatedly.  My  hands  and  feet  were 
wet  and  bruised  and  cold.  I  reached  a  cliff  that  towered 
above  me,  enveloping  me  in  complete  darkness.  I  crept 
along  on  hands  and  knees,  trying  to  find  a  place  to  lie  down, 
and  found  a  crevice  in  the  rock.  It  was  dry  in  there  and 
there  was  just  room  enough  for  me  to  squeeze  in,  and  there 
I  sat  and  shivered  in  the  night,  a  lost  louse  on  the  crust 
of  the  earth.  I  tried  to  sleep  but  my  teeth  began  to  chatter 
and  my  legs  to  cramp.  I  had  to  get  out  and  rub  and  mas- 
sage my  legs  and  beat  my  arms. 

Thus  the  daybreak  found  me,  chilled  to  the  marrow,  rub- 
bing life  and  warmth  into  my  chilled  limbs.  As  soon  as  the 
blackness  took  on  a  grayish  hue,  I  crawled  down  from  my 
resting  place  and  slowly  worked  my  way  to  the  west.  The 
rain  ceased  but  everything  was  enveloped  in  a  heavy  blanket 
of  fog.  I  could  see  nothing  but  the  snow  and  rocks  a  few 
feet  ahead  of  me  but  I  knew  that  the  wind  was  southwest, 
so  I  had  a  course.  I  also  knew  that  the  mountain  was  steep 
on  the  Dyasenki  side  and  that  it  would  be  very  dangerous  to 
descend,  more  so  on  account  of  the  fog.  But  I  couldn't  stay 
up  there  so  I  kept  on,  down  ever  steeper  slopes  of  rock  and 
snow. 

I  came  to  a  bench  that  was  flat  and  even.  Suddenly,  the 
wind  and  fog  seemed  to  come  straight  up  out  of  the  earth 
at  my  feet.  I  stopped  short  and  sat  down.  Then  the  fog 
parted  and  I  looked  down  over  the  Dyasenki  two  thousand 


ACROSS  THE  GLACIER  83 

feet  or  more  below  me.  A  few  steps  more  and  I  would  have 
been  over  the  edge  of  a  cliff  to  sudden  death.  I  wondered 
why  it  was  that  I  hadn't  kept  on  and  I  thought  of  Marian. 
In  my  tired  fancy  it  seemed  as  if  she  had  held  me  back 
and  that  it  was  for  her  that  I  must  live. 

Below  me  the  glacier  wound  its  way  from  inland  ice 
fields,  a  river  of  ice  slowly,  patiently  moving  to  the  sea.  I 
retraced  my  steps  and  went  along  the  side  of  the  mountain. 
Soon  I  came  upon  a  trail  with  tracks  of  goat  and  bear  and 
wolf.  I  followed  it,  for  in  my  experience  I  always  get 
somewhere  when  I  follow  trails.  It  led  along  the  moun- 
tainside and  for  a  while  I  mas  afraid  that  it  was  leading 
me  inland  to  some  pass  through  the  coast  range,  but  then  it 
dropped  off  down  a  deep  gully  to  another  bench  and  I  was 
sure  that  it  was  leading  to  the  glacier. 

The  sky  cleared  and  the  sun  came  out  and  shone  and 
sparkled  in  the  myriad  things,  the  green-blue  glacier,  the 
polished  walls  of  rock  by  its  sides,  the  creeklets  plunging 
down  from  rocky  heights,  the  raindrops  in  the  grass  and 
moss.  The  whole  world  was  like  a  jewel-bedecked  picture. 
I  was  nice  and  warm  again  and  had  lots  of  vigor,  but  I  was 
hungry,  awfully  hungry.  I  drew  my  belt  up  and  kept  on 
down  the  rocky  slopes.  The  trail  led  me  through  canyons 
and  over  benches  and  then  into  a  narrow  gorge  between  a 
large  cliff  and  the  mountainside,  the  cliff  being  a  slice  of 
the  mountain  that  had  broken  off  and  was  leaning  over  the 
glacier,  hesitating  an  age  or  two  before  taking  the  plunge. 
There  was  a  little  creek  running  down  the  gorge  and  along 
its  sandy  edges  there  were  tracks  of  fox  and  wolf  and  bear 
and  lynx,  and  many  other  animals  that  had  come  that  way. 
The  way  was  very  narrow  in  places  and  once  a  rock  had 
fallen  down  and  jammed  above  the  trail,  forming  a  tunnel 
through  which  I  had  to  crawl  on  all  fours.  Here  and  there 
along  the  sides  in  the  broken  rock  were  long  hairs  of  brown 
and  black  bear,  where  they  had  rubbed  along  for  countless 
years.  The  trail  led  up  quite  steeply  for  a  way  and  then 
curved  in  and  out  again  in  a  wide  semi-circle,  ending  by 


84  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

the  open  face  of  the  mountain  where  I  could  look  down  to 
the  glacier  a  thousand  feet  or  so  below.  Here  the  trail 
led  out  onto  a  narrow  shelf  of  rock  where  the  moss  was 
beaten  hard  by  many  feet.  It  was  only  a  few  feet  wide  and 
I  walked  along,  hugging  close  to  the  mountain.  I  didn't  feel 
dizzy  exactly,  but  several  times  at  the  beginning  I  felt  cold 
shivers  go  up  my  spine  when  I  thought  about  falling  and  I 
fought  them  by  swearing  and  biting  my  lips  and  kept  on, 
trying  hard  not  to  look  down.  In  some  places  it  was  so 
narrow  that  I  had  hardly  room  enough  to  place  my  feet 
and  in  other  places  it  sloped  till  I  expected  every  moment 
to  slide  off  and  plunge  down.  In  one  place  the  rock  above 
was  overhanging  and  I  had  to  crawl,  hunching  along  by 
inches,  and  then  another  time  it  was  only  a  crevice  where 
I  had  to  step  along  face  to  the  rock  from  foot  hold  to  foot 
hold,  clutching  with  my  hands  at  cracks  and  irregularities. 
Again  the  trail  led  to  a  narrow  gorge  in  the  side  of  the 
mountain.  This  crack  was  even  narrower  than  the  last. 
I  could  hardly  squeeze  my  body  through  and  I  wondered 
how  on  earth  a  bear  could  walk  where  I  could  hardly 
squeeze  through.  I  must  have  missed  the  trail  somewhere 
I  thought  and  I  pushed  myself  out  of  the  crevice  again.  At 
the  entrance  there  lay  a  heap  of  large  rocks,  and  sure 
enough  the  trail  led  down  through  a  hole  under  them.  I 
knelt  down  and  peered  in.  It  was  dark  in  there  and  smelled 
of  animals.  I  fet  uneasy  about  it  as  I  crawled  in  a  few  feet, 
then  I  thought  I  heard  something  move  around  inside  and 
there  flashed  into  my  eyes  a  pair  of  green,  glowing  spots.  I 
backed  out  hastily,  the  thing  following  me,  spitting  at  me 
like  a  cat  and  yawling  weirdly.  It  was  a  lynx  and  I  thanked 
my  stars  that  it  didn't  jump  on  me  in  there.  I  had  had  all 
the  underground  traveling  I  wanted,  so  I  looked  about  to 
find  another  way.  The  walls  were  impossible  everywhere 
and  there  were  only  the  hole  and  the  gorge  so  I  took  the 
gorge  to  see  where  it  led.  It  went  up  and  soon  widened 
out  so  I  could  walk  with  ease.  It  was  only  a  couple  of  hun- 
dred feet  long  and  then  I  came  out  on  the  face  of  the  moun- 


ACROSS  THE  GLACIER  85 

tain  again.  I  looked  down  and  there  a  hundred  feet  below 
me  ran  the  trail,  plain  and  even  over  a  narrow  bench  leading 
to  a  small  knoll  covered  with  brush  and  jack  pine.  The  face 
of  the  mountain  below  me  was  full  of  cracks  and  in  them 
grew  bushes,  jack  pines  and  mountain  birch.  There  was 
also  a  crevice  in  the  sloping  face  of  the  rock  beginning  at  my 
feet.  It  was  full  of  moss  and  looked  like  a  green  velvet 
border  on  gray  granite.  I  tried  it  with  my  feet  to  see  if  it 
would  hold,  for  I  had  to  go  somewhere.  It  held  and  I 
moved  along  step  by  step,  clutching  at  what  projections 
there  were.  A  jack  pine  grew  about  fifty  feet  away,  only  a 
few  feet  below  the  crevice  I  was  traversing.  If  I  could 
only  get  that  far,  I  could  let  myself  drop  down  to  it  and 
from  it  to  another  one  that  grew  a  little  below,  and  from 
there  it  seemed  easy  to  reach  the  trail.  There  were  only  a 
few  feet  to  go,  when  the  moss  gave  way  beneath  my  feet,  my 
knees  banged  against  the  face  of  the  rock  and  I  was  falling. 
I  grabbed  for  the  crevice  with  my  hands  but  I  got  only  two 
handfuls  of  moss  and  kept  on  sliding,  faster  and  faster,  my 
fingers  scraping  against  the  rock  and  my  sorely  broken 
finger  nails  groping  for  a  hold.  I  slipped  by  a  clump  of 
brush,  grabbed,  and  it  held.  There  was  a  crevice  by  my 
bleeding  knees  and  they  found  a  rest  there.  I  looked  down 
and  saw  a  jack  pine  ten  feet  below  me  and  to  one  side,  and 
a  little  below  it  there  was  a  small  birch  and  from  the  birch 
there  were  only  a  few  feet  to  the  bench  where  the  trail  ran. 
The  bench  was  only  a  few  yards  wide,  showing  a  straight 
fall  of  cliffs  to  the  glacier  below.  I  wasn't  frightened, 
strange  as  it  may  seem ;  my  hands  and  knees  hurt  too  much. 
I  gave  a  push,  and  dropping,  grabbed  for  the  tree.  I  got 
hold  of  a  limb  but  it  broke  and  I  fell  against  the  rock  and 
rolled  over  and  over.  My  head  banged  against  something 
and  then  all  was  dark,  and  I  was  falling! 

I  felt  the  sunshine  on  my  face.  Something  was  holding 
me  tight  around  the  hips;  something  was  pressing  against 
my  head,  and  something  seemed  to  have  me  by  the  throat. 
My  legs  were  hanging  loose  below  me.    I  moved  them  and 


86  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

they  hit  against  something  hard.  My  arms  were  held  close. 
Then  I  opened  my  eyes  and  looked  about  me.  I  was  hang- 
ing in  a  tree  by  the  neck  of  my  coat  and  my  hips  were 
jammed  in  between  the  trunk  of  the  tree  and  the  face  of 
the  cliff.  A  limb  had  caught  under  my  coat  and  had  come 
out  at  the  back  of  my  head,  and  there  I  hung.  Something 
warm  ran  down  over  my  face  and  lips.  I  tasted  it.  It  was 
blood  and  little  by  little  I  remembered  how  it  came  about. 
I  looked  about  more  intelligently  now.  The  trail  was  at  the 
foot  of  the  tree,  just  a  few  inches  from  my  feet.  I  squirmed 
around  to  get  my  hips  loose.  My  body  was  sore  but  I  had 
to  free  myself.  I  got  my  foot  up  in  the  crotch  between 
the  tree  and  the  wall  and  got  loose;  then  I  let  myself  slip 
out  of  my  coat  to  the  ground.  I  could  hardly  stand  and 
everything  went  round  and  round.  I  got  my  coat  down 
with  difficulty  and  walked  slowly  and  wearily  along  the 
trail  to  the  knoll  a  little  distance  away.  The  brush  there 
was  blueberry  bushes,  loaded  with  berries.  A  small  stream 
came  splashing  down  the  cliffs  and  ran  tumbling  over  the 
bench.  There  was  a  little  pool  below  the  fall  and  here  I 
knelt  and  drank  my  fill  and  washed  my  hurts.  My  head 
had  a  deep  cut  on  top  and  my  hands  and  knees  were  skinned 
and  bruised,  while  my  finger  nails  were  aching  beyond  all 
expression.  The  sun  was  low  in  the  west  so  I  knew  it  was 
evening  and  I  must  have  been  hanging  in  that  tree  most  of 
the  day.  I  felt  very  weak  from  loss  of  blood  and  lack  of 
food  and  I  dragged  myself  over  into  the  blueberry  bushes. 
Big,  juicy  blueberries !  I  ate  some  and  then  fell  asleep  on 
the  soft,  mossy  ground.  When  I  woke  up  it  was  dark  and 
cold  and  blowing  hard.  A  cold,  drizzly  fog  was  coming  up 
from  the  glacier  and  the  fiord.  My  body  was  so  stiff  and 
sore  that  I  could  hardly  move  it,  and  my  head  was  hot  and 
■^  jumping  like  a  motor.  Water !  I  wanted  water.  My  hands 
and  knees  felt  as  if  I  were  crawling  on  red  hot  irons  as  I 
moved  through  the  brush  and  over  the  pebbles,  but  I  wanted 
water  more  than  comfort  I  ducked  my  head  in  the  little 
pool  and  drank  and  soaked  the  fluid  in,  for  while  my  body 


ACROSS  THE  GLACIER  87 

was  cold  and  shivering,  my  head  was  hot.  I  wondered  how 
long  I  would  last,  for  I  thought  that  I  was  surely  dying. 
I  wondered  if  I  had  better  crawl  over  to  the  edge  of  the 
cliff  and  let  myself  fall,  and  I  imagined  doing  it  and  in  the 
middle  of  these  imaginings  I  fell  asleep  again  by  the  pool. 
When  I  woke  I  was  in  a  kind  of  stupor,  delirious,  imagining 
all  kinds  of  weird  things  but  trying  all  the  time  to  keep 
control  of  myself.  Thus  I  spent  an  age,  now  sleeping,  now 
raving,  now  bemoaning  my  hurts  and  cursing  my  luck.  The 
morning  found  me  there,  and,  as  the  day  grew  brighter,  I 
started  down  along  the  trail.  It  ran  down  a  small  canyon 
and  thus  it  went  clear  down  to  the  glacier. 

My  mind  had  grown  clearer  and  my  strength  and  ambi- 
tion had  come  back  to  me,  and  as  soon  as  I  limbered  up,  I 
found  that  I  was  not  as  badly  hurt  as  I  had  thought.  My 
head  stopped  aching  and  the  cool  water  that  I  drank  tasted 
sweet  and  good.     It  was  not  so  bad,  after  all. 

Down  at  the  edge  of  the  glacier  I  could  follow  the  trail 
no  more,  for  it  was  covered  with  rocks,  large  and  small,  but 
I  made  out  over  them  straight  across  the  glacier.  It  was 
very  muddy  between  the  rocks  and  became  more  so  as  I 
progressed,  but  it  grew  less  muddy  again  as  I  got  farther 
away  from  the  edge  and  soon  it  was  pure,  milky  ice.  I 
had  seen  several  tracks  back  in  the  mud,  so  I  was  sure  that 
I  was  going  in  the  right  direction,  and  as  I  followed  a  long 
ridge  of  ice  the  trail  gradually  appeared  again  and  the 
honeycombed  ice  was  broken  and  worn  by  many  hoofs  and 
paws.  In  and  out  the  trail  wound  its  way,  around  deep 
holes  and  along  crevices  that  I  dared  not  look  into  more 
than  once,  for  they  were  bottomless  and  my  fall  the  day 
before  had  unnerved  me  somewhat.  Now  I  was  crossing  a 
big  table  of  green  ice,  now  on  a  sharp  ridge  with  sides  slop- 
ing down,  God  knows  how  far.  A  misstep  here  would 
mean  not  only  death,  it  would  mean  cold  storage  till  that 
part  of  the  glacier  had  moved  three  or  four  miles  down  to 
the  sea,  to  be  melted  and  carried  away.  In  one  place  I  had 
to  jump  over  a  deep  crevice.    It  was  only  about  four  feet 


88  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

wide  but  it  looked  tremendous  to  me.       It  took  all  the 

strength  of  will  I  had  to  jump  it  and  once  across  I  threw 
myself  on  the  ice,  clutched  it  and  screamed  with  terror. 
The  fall  of  the  day  before  had  surely  unnerved  me.  I 
pulled  myself  together,  for  it  would  never  do  to  get  hysteri- 
cal. I  could  never  cross  that  awful  glacier  that  way.  On 
and  on,  over  sharp  ridges  and  through  sink  holes  I  hurried, 
then  through  the  mud  and  over  the  rocks  to  safe  land  again. 
I  didn't  look  back  for  I  was  glad  to  be  away  from  it  and 
I  never  wanted  to  see  the  place  again. 

Then  I  went  up  over  the  second  mountain  range.  It  was 
not  nearly  as  high  as  the  first  one,  nor  as  steep.  Once  on 
top,  I  could  look  over  the  Chilkoot  valley  with  the  river  and 
the  lake.  I  could  see  the  Chilkoot  cannery  with  the  many 
fishing  boats  lying  round  in  the  inlet.  I  thought  of  all  the 
food  that  was  down  there.  Oh,  for  a  bit  of  food !  I  was 
starving. 

I  hurried  down  to  the  steep  meadows  where  berries  grew 
and  spent  a  hour  or  so  eating  to  my  heart's  content.  Then  I 
hurried  down  the  hillside  again  and  was  soon  below  in  the 
valley.  Once  there  I  had  to  be  careful,  for  there  is  an 
Indian  village  at  the  lake  and  if  any  of  them  saw  me,  they 
would  surely  stop  me  or  at  least  talk  about  meeting  me  for 
I  was,  no  doubt,  a  sight. 

I  crawled  cautiously  through  the  brush,  waded  across  the 
Chilkoot  river  and  struck  into  the  woods  again  across  the 
valley  and  up  the  last  mountain  range  that  barred  my  way 
to  the  Chilkat  river  and  the  road.  I  had  changed  my  mind 
about  going  to  Haines  and  had  decided  to  go  to  Klukwan, 
up  through  Pleasant  Camp  and  then  to  the  interior  some- 
where. I  would  rather  be  in  there  chopping  wood  over  win- 
ter in  White  Horse  or  Dawson  for  my  board  than  to  be  in  a 
penitentiary  for  five  long  years.  So,  although  I  dreaded 
going  over  that  mountain,  I  kept  on. 

I  was  beginning  to  get  downright  exhausted  now.  I  was 
so  weary  that  I  wanted  to  lie  down  every  moment.  It 
seemed  as  if  I  had  been  going  steadily  for  a  week  or  more. 


ACROSS  THE  GLACIER  89 

Every  time  I  slipped  on  some  root  or  stick,  and  fell,  I 
wanted  to  stay  down  and  never  get  up  again,  and  it  seemed 
as  if  I  kept  falling  after  I  had  hit  the  ground.  The  brush 
was  so  thick  and  tangled  that  breaking  through  was  hard 
and  slow  work.  .  The  sticks  caught  in  my  rags  and  made 
them  even  more  ragged.  They  knotted  in  tangles  in  front 
of  me  and  constantly  held  me  back.  There  were  thickets  of 
devilclubs  and  my  arms  and  legs  got  full  of  stickers,  but 
I  kept  on,  for  I  had  to  reach  Klukwan  before  I'd  get  any- 
thing to  eat.  I  saw  several  bear  tracks  but  that  didn't  worry 
me,  for  I  was  too  tired  to  bother  about  anything  but  my 
hurts  and  my  hunger.  It  was  the  lack  of  real  food  that  ailed 
me,  for  my  stomach  cramped  agonizingly  and  the  berries 
didn't  seem  to  do  any  good.  I  would  sit  down  or  lie  down 
and  rest,  but  not  for  long,  for  I  kept  falling  asleep  and  I 
needed  to  get  over  that  last  mountain.  I  knew  I  would 
never  make  it  that  day  but  I  wanted  to  keep  on  as  long  as 
I  possibly  could. 

On  a  rabbit  trail  I  came  upon  a  lynx  engaged  in  eating  a 
rabbit.  It  saw  me,  hunched  its  back,  and  stood  there  spit- 
ting at  me,  its  hair  all  standing  erect.  I  made  a  stumble  at 
it,  for  a  dash  it  could  hardly  be  called,  and  it  scurried  off  into 
the  brush  in  a  hurry,  leaving  the  half  eaten  rabbit  on  the 
ground.  It  had  only  eaten  the  head  and  the  forelegs  and  I 
ate  the  rest.  Yes,  I  sat  down  there  and  tore  the  red,  bloody 
meat  with  my  teeth  and  crunched  the  bones  while  the  lynx 
circled  around  me  in  the  brush,  yawling  angrily.  It  tasted 
good  to  me  and  I  ate  it  every  bit  except  the  skin  and  guts. 
It  gave  me  strength  and  again  I  moved  up  the  everlasting 
upward  trail. 

My  shoes  were  going  fast.  The  soles  were  all  right  but 
the  uppers  were  almost  entirely  worn  out  and  the  sides  of 
my  feet  were  full  of  stickers.  My  feet  were  sore  and  bleed- 
ing but  my  stomach  was  digesting  that  rabbit  and  it  kept 
sending  new  strength  through  my  body  and  I  kept  right  on 
climbing  and  crawling.  When  I  got  out  of  the  timber  and 
up  on  the  open,  grassy  slopes  the  wind  began  to  blow  and 


90  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

soon  it  began  to  snow.  Now  I  had  another  obstacle  to  fight. 
The  hillside  became  very  slippery  and  I  fell  down  again  and 
again,  till  I  thought  that  I  would  never  make  it.  I  thought 
about  turning  back  but  I  was  near  the  top  of  the  range  so 
I  kept  on. 

It  cleared  for  a  while  just  before  dark  and  I  saw  that  I 
was  in  a  gap  in  the  range  like  a  pass  with  high,  round  moun- 
tains on  each  side.  I  hurried  over  the  rounding  saddle  and 
was  soon  on  the  Chilkat  slope.  Another  snow  storm  was 
approaching.  It  looked  like  a  tremendous  white  wall  rush- 
ing along.  Then  it  closed  in  around  me  and  I  was  in  a  cellar 
with  white  walls.  It  grew  darker  and  darker  but  I  couldn't 
get  lost  now.  All  I  had  to  do  was  to  go  down  hill.  It  must 
have  been  snowing  all  day  on  this  side  of  the  range,  for  the 
snow  was  about  a  foot  deep  and  much  deeper  whare  it  had 
drifted.  Through  the  dark  and  the  deep  snow  it  was  im- 
possible for  me  to  see  where  I  was  going.  I  knew  that  this 
side  of  the  mountain  was  broken  and  precipitous  and  that 
there  were  numerous  cliffs  and  holes  and  clear  dropoffs,  but 
I  had  to  trust  to  chance  to  get  me  through,  for  to  stay  up 
there  would  mean  sure  death  from  the  cold  and  I  couldn't 
go  back.  So  I  kept  sliding  and  plunging  through  the  snow. 
I  was  numb  with  cold  and  far  past  the  hurting  stage,  except 
when  I  stumbled  over  the  rocks,  and  then  I  hurt  all  over. 
When  I  fell  I  didn't  want  to  get  up  but  lay  whimpering, 
thinking  that  I  was  all  in  and  sure  to  die.  The  wolves 
would  tear  my  flesh  and  scatter  my  bones  far  and  wide  and 
no  one  would  ever  know  what  had  become  of  me.  Then  when 
the  cramps  began  to  draw  my  muscles  into  knots  I  would 
force  myself  to  rise  and  stumble  down  through  the  snow. 
Man  is  surely  a  poor  excuse  for  an  animat  that  he  must 
have  clothes  to  be  warm.  Warmth!  Oh,  if  I  only  could 
have  warmth!  I  felt  as  if  I  had  no  feet  and  an  icy  hand 
seemed  to  be  pressing  against  my  backbone,  but  I  stumbled 
on.  I  couldn't  stay  on  my  feet  in  places  but  had  to  sit 
down  and  slide.  I  didn't  care  much  for  anjrthing  any  longer 
but  let  myself  go  as  far  as  gravity  would  take  me.    It  is  a 


ACROSS  THE  GLACIER  91 

wonder  to  me  that  I  did  not  get  seriously  hurt,  for  it  seemed 
as  if  I  were  going  pretty  fast  sometimes.  After  a  while 
there  was  no  more  snow  and  I  came  into  the  dark  woods. 
Here  I  could  see  nothing,  so  I  sat  down  on  my  haunches 
and  slid  little  by  little.  It  was  remarkably  smooth  going 
on  the  mossy  slope.  The  moon  came  out  and  soon  I  could 
see  dimly  where  I  was.  I  was  safe  on  a  sloping  ridge  with 
a  canyon  on  each  side.  By  some  miracle  of  chance  I  had 
stayed  on  the  back  of  the  ridge  and  not  slid  down  one  of  the 
sides  to  the  deep,  precipitous  creek  bed  in  the  canyon.  The 
timber  was  open  and  the  mossy  ground  was  good  to  walk  on 
but  I  was  too  sore  and  exhausted  to  appreciate  it  and  just 
stumbled  downward.  It  seemed  an  age  before  I  reached  the 
road  in  the  valley  of  the  Chilkat  river.  I  walked  along  it 
and  saw  by  a  mile  post  that  I  was  ten  miles  from  Haines. 
I  had  thirteen  miles  to  go  before  I  could  reach  Klukwan! 
I  kept  on  up  the  road  in  a  dazed,  stupid  fashion.  In  the 
early  morning  I  reached  the  Indian  village. 

There  was  no  one  in  sight,  so  I  walked  right  through  to 
where  one  of  my  friends  lived  and  knocked  on  the  door. 
My  friend  came  out  from  behind  the  house  where  he  had 
been  splitting  wood. 

"Well,  of  all  the  men  I  ever  expected  to  see,  you  are  the 
last,"  he  exclaimed  when  he  recognized  me.  "But,  Svend, 
where  have  you  been  ?    You  look  sick.    What's  the  matter  ?" 

An  expression  of  pain  and  sympathy  passed  over  his  face. 
"Come  on  into  the  house  and  tell  me  about  it."  He  held 
the  door  open  for  me  and  I  entered  the  warm,  cozy  kitchen 
and  sat  down  and  told  him  my  story.  "I  came  this  way 
because  I  thought  maybe  you  would  lend  me  a  rifle  and 
some  grub  to  take  me  to  the  interior,"  I  said,  when  I  had 
told  him  all  as  briefly  as  I  could. 

He  looked  sadly  at  me  and  shook  his  head  from  side  to 
side  in  sorrow.  "You,  Svend,  in  jail  for  burglary!  My 
God !  Sure,  I  will  give  you  anything  that  I  have  that  will 
help  you,  but  you  must  stay  here  for  a  few  days  and  rest 
up.    You  look  almost  dead.    And  you  came  from  Skagway 


92  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

to  here  overland !  Do  you  know  that  the  Indians  say  that 
is  impossible?  And  without  food!  Great  God,  but  you 
must  be  hungry !    And  you  locked  the  jailer  in,"  he  chuckled. 

His  wife  came  down  stairs.  "How  do  you  do?"  she 
greeted,  and  we  shook  hands.  She  tried  to  look  pleasant 
and  not  to  notice  my  condition,  kind  woman,  but  I  could 
see  the  pity  in  her  eyes  and  the  friendly  sympathy  she  had 
for  me. 

Another  friend  came  over  to  get  his  morning's  milk.  He 
took  in  my  condition  at  a  glance.  I  was  down  and  out.  A 
look  of  surprise  and  sorrow  showed  in  his  face.  Then  he 
brightened  up.  "By  the  way,  Svend,"  he  said,  "I  am  in  need 
of  a  helper  very  badly.  Would  you  care  to  help  me  out?  I 
have  some  freighting  to  do  to  Pleasant  Camp,  and  from 
Haines  here.  That  will  be  an  all  winter  job  if  you  care  to 
stay  with  us." 

I  knew  he  did  not  need  a  man.  The  Indians  of  Klukwan 
could  do  as  good  work  as  any  white  man  and  would  do  it 
cheaper  than  any  respectable  white  man  would  care  to  do  it. 
He  had  seen  my  ragged  clothing  and  wanted  to  help  me  out. 
I  thanked  him  and  made  him  understand  that  I  couldn't 
stop.  He  didn't  know  what  my  trouble  was  but  I  told  him 
that  the  other  friend  would  let  him  know  when  I  had  gone. 

They  gave  me  some  clothes  and  heavy  woolen  under- 
wear and  I  took  a  hot  bath  and  doctored  my  cuts  and 
bruises  with  iodine,  then  I  ate  breakfast  with  my  friends. 
I  ate  till  I  was  ashamed  of  myself  but  they,  good  people, 
understood  how  it  was  and  were  glad  to  have  me  fill  up. 

Then  I  got  some  blankets,  grub,  a  gun  and  a  pair  of  shoe 
packs  from  the  store.  I  had  to  get  the  shoe  packs  three  sizes 
too  large  because  my  feet  were  so  badly  swollen.  My 
friends  insisted  that  I  should  stay  but  I  knew  that  the  mail 
would  be  up  that  day  and  I  didn't  want  to  be  there  when 
they  read  the  papers.  Nor  did  I  want  to  have  any  one 
see  me  there,  not  so  much  for  my  own  sake  as  for  that  of 
my  friends  who  were  helping  me.  So,  although  I  was  dead 
for  sleep  and  could  hardly  keep  my  eyes  open  when  I  was 


ACROSS  THE  GLACIER  93 

still  for  a  moment,  I  said  good-by  to  them,  swung  the 
ninety  odd  pounds  of  grub  and  blankets  on  my  back,  and 
hurried  away. 

I  had  gone  about  a  mile  when  I  heard  some  one  running 
after  me.  I  looked  around  startled,  ready  to  plunge  into 
the  bush. 

It  was  the  missionary.  "I  want  to  say  good-by  to  you," 
he  said.  "Sorry  you  can  not  stay.  But  two  things  I  want 
you  to  remember.  If  you  are  ever  in  need  of  a  friend,  don't 
be  afraid  to  come  to  me.  I  am  your  friend,  no  matter  what 
your  circumstances  may  be.  And  remember  there  is  one 
above  who  keeps  watch  over  us  all  at  all  times.  God  is  good 
and  he  will  take  care  of  you  if  you  will  but  ask  him.  Good- 
by,  my  boy.    May  God  take  care  of  you  wherever  you  go." 

He  left  me  dazed  and  thoughtful.  Surely  God  was  good 
to  have  given  me  friends  like  that,  and  there  on  the  road  I 
sincerely  asked  Him  to  bless  and  keep  those  good  people. 

I  didn't  like  to  travel  on  the  road,  so  at  Wells  where  the 
Klihinah  empties  into  the  Chilkat,  I  went  to  an  Indian 
friend  who  has  a  homestead  there  and  told  him  I  was  in 
trouble  and  wanted  to  cross  the  Chilkat  above  Klihinah.  I 
didn't  have  to  say  much,  for  an  Indian  needs  only  a  few 
statements  to  understand  and  he  draws  his  own  conclusions 
as  to  details.    He  took  me  across  the  river  in  his  canoe. 

"I  wish  I  was  going  with  you,"  he  said,  and  looked  wist- 
fully up  the  valley,  "but  I  must  stay  here  and  take  care 
of  my  foxes.  Too  bad,  too  bad,"  he  shook  his  head  slowly. 
"When  you  come  back,  come  see  me.  Tell  Paddy  I  am  all 
right."  We  shook  hands  and  he  paddled  back  across  the 
river. 

Once  more  I  was  alone  with  miles  and  miles  ahead  of  me. 
But  I  had  a  pack  of  grub  on  my  back  and  a  gun ;  enough  to 
last  me  three  months  and  a  lot  longer  if  I  took  good  care 
of  it  and  lived  mostly  on  the  country.  So  I  was  not  lone- 
some, but  I  was  awfully,  awfully  tired.  The  hot  coffee  and 
the  warm  food  had  stimulated  me  for  the  time  being  but 
now  I  was  fast  giving  out.    It  began  to  rain  and  I  realized 


94  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

that  I  couldn't  possibly  make  Boulder  Creek  where  there 
was  an  old,  deserted  cabin,  so  I  forded  the  Klihinah  and 
made  for  Sunshine  Hill  where  a  friend  of  mine  has  a  home- 
stead. It  took  me  quite  a  while  to  go  the  last  mile  or  two, 
for  my  legs  kept  giving  way  under  me  in  the  most  remark- 
able fashion  and  I  had  become  ravenously  hungry  again. 

My  friend  was  not  at  home  but  the  door  was  open  and  I 
went  in  and  soon  had  cooked  and  eaten  a  meal.  Then  I 
fell  into  a  stupor  on  the  bed. 

Late  the  next  morning  I  awoke  and  got  up  and  looked 
about.  I  had  never  been  there  before,  though  I  had  known 
the  owner  a  long  time.  There  was  a  little  clearing  around 
the  cabin,  and  as  I  stepped  out  of  the  door  into  the  garden, 
a  grouse  flew  up  to  a  branch  in  a  nearby  spruce  tree  with  a 
loud  whirr  of  wings,  while  a  couple  of  rabbits  scurried  out 
of  the  cabbage  patch  into  the  woods.  I  hurried  in  and  got 
my  rifle  and  the  grouse  made  my  breakfast.  A  small  river 
ran  right  past  the  house,  and  as  I  went  down  for  water,  a 
flock  of  ducks  splashed  off  the  little  boat  landing  and  swam 
quacking  down  the  stream.  Surely  it  was  a  beautiful  place 
to  live.  The  cabin  was  clean  and  snug.  There  were  a  table, 
two  chairs,  two  beds,  a  writing  desk  and  a  cook  stove,  with 
pots  and  pans  hanging  on  the  wall  in  orderly  fashion.  I 
imagined  my  own  cabin  would  look  like  that  with  her  to  fill 
it  with  cozy  love  and  happiness.  Then  I  realized  how  hope- 
less my  ever  having  a  home  of  my  own  had  become.  I  was 
an  outlaw  and  had  to  sneak  around  or  hide,  in  order  to  keep 
out  of  the  penitentiary.  How  could  I  ever  have  a  home  in 
Alaska  and  how  could  I  ever  expect  her  to  trust  me,  a  felon, 
a  burglar,  an  outlaw.  I  threw  myself  on  the  bed  and  cried 
and  wondered  if  I  really  had  a  friend  in  the  world,  and 
then  I  remembered  what  the  missionary  had  said  to  me  and 
I  asked  God  to  help  me  build  my  home,  and  while  I  was 
doing  that,  I  thought  of  the  dream  I  had  had  of  her  and 
I  remembered  the  words  she  spoke,  "All  is  grist,  Svend.  All 
is  grist  that  goes  to  the  mill."  Then  I  felt  better  and 
stronger. 


ACROSS  THE  GLACIER  95 

I  ate  breakfast  and  doctored  my  feet,  picking  out  all  the 
devil-club  stickers  and  applying  iodine  to  the  cuts.  Then 
I  rolled  up  my  pack  and  said  good-by  to  the  nice  place,  leav- 
ing a  note  to  the  owner  on  the  table,  and  started  out  again 
over  the  trail. 

The  morning  was  clear  and  cold,  with  frost  on  the 
ground,  and  the  air  was  very  exhilarating.  I  was  sore  at 
first  but  soon  I  limbered  up,  and  barring  a  few  cuts  and 
bruises,  was  in  fairly  good  shape.  I  kept  on  at  a  pretty 
fast  gait,  for  I  wanted  to  get  to  Pleasant  Camp  that  night 
and  I  had  seventeen  miles  to  go.  Part  of  the  way  I  fan  at 
a  trot,  the  Indian  trot  as  Pete  calls  it,  a  kind  of  lope  that 
gets  a  man  over  the  trail  faster  than  any  other  gait  that  I 
know.  My  lungs  expanded  and  I  drew  in  ^reat  draughts 
of  pure,  sweet  air.  I  gloried  in  the  beautiful  woods,  the 
glorious  sunshine  and  the  many  colored  leaves.  Ah,  but 
the  woods  are  beautiful  in  the  fall  of  the  year.  I  had  no 
time  to  worry  about  what  was  going  to  happen  to  me.  I 
was  on  the  trail  and  going  somewhere  through  the  most 
beautiful  of  days  and  I  was  glad  to  be  free  now  and  would 
be  happy  while  I  was  free. 

Soon  I  was  off  Sunshine  Hill  down  in  the  Klihinah  flats 
where  the  river  winds  its  way,  criss-crossing  the  wide, 
gravel-strewn  valley  that  is  its  bed.  Past  Cottonwood  Point 
I  ran  where  the  skeletons  of  old  time  stampedes  still  stand 
in  the  form  of  blown  down  shacks,  tent  poles  and  frames 
for  large  tent  houses  and  bams. 

I  sneaked  around  Porcupine  and  towards  evening  I 
crossed  the  foot  bridge  over  Jarvis  river,  went  up  a  steep 
bank  about  a  hundred  feet  or  so,  and  then  I  was  across  the 
line.  Now  I  could  scoff  at  the  marshalls  and  the  jailers  if 
they  came  to  get  me.  At  last  I  was  really  safe,  for  the  time 
being,  anyway,  for  there  were  no  police  nearer  than  White 
Horse.  A  narrow  trail  took  me  to  the  bridge  across  the 
Klihinah  and  soon  I  was  in  Pleasant  Camp.  I  didn't  think 
that  anybody  was  there,  so  I  put  my  pack  in  one  of  the 


96  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

empty  cabins  and  after  gathering  some  wood,  began  to 
build  a  fire. 

Some  one  came  and  opened  the  door.  I  whirled  around 
and  grabbed  my  rifle  and  then  I  saw  that  it  was  a  man  I  had 
known  in  Haines. 

We  shook  hands  and  he  asked  me  where  I  was  going.  I 
told  him  that  I  had  gone  to  White  Horse  and  found  nothing 
to  do  there,  then  had  gone  to  Skagway  and  found  condi- 
tions still  worse,  so  I  had  decided  to  go  to  the  interior  again, 
taking  the  Kluane  trail  to  the  Shushanna  district,  where  I 
thought  I  might  get  something  to  do. 

"Well,  well,"  he  said;  "you  sure  are  some  traveler.  I 
wish  that  I  were  as  young  and  strong  as  you.  Come  on 
down  and  stay  with  me  and  the  missus.  We  got  lots  of 
bedding.  You  can  sleep  on  the  floor.  It  is  a  lot  better  than 
staying  here." 

"All  right,"  I  said,  'I'll  come  over  as  soon  as  I've  had 
something  to  eat." 

"No,  no,  you  come  right  with  me,"  and  he  took  my  pack 
which  I  had  not  yet  unrolled.  'Gee  whiz,"  he  exclaimed, 
"what  have  you  got  in  it,  lead  ?  Why,  it  must  weigh  ninety 
pounds  or  more.  Leave  that  fire  alone,  the  missus  will 
make  you  a  better  lunch  than  you  can  ever  make." 

This  is  the  next  day  and  it  is  evening.  I  have  been  writ- 
ing all  day  and  the  missus  asked  me  if  it  were  a  book.  But 
it  is  done  now  and  to-morrow  I  start  for  the  interior.  My 
host  says  that  there  is  snow  on  the  summits  now  and  I  sup- 
pose I  shall  have  a  hazardous  trip.  But  it  is  all  in  the  game 
and  I  have  to  make  it. 

I  am  going  to  send  this  long  diary  to  you  Marian,  and  it 
may  be  the  last  installment  for  a  long  time.  I  know  that  I 
shall  meet  danger  up  there  in  those  great  wastes  but  don't 
worry  about  it,  for  I  feel  stronger  and  more  capable  than  I 
ever  did  in  my  life  before  and  I  have  a  good  chance  of  mak- 
ing it  through.  If  I  stay  in  there  over  winter,  you  may  per- 
haps not  hear  from  me  till  next  summer,  but  if  I  can  send  a 
letter,  I  will.        Good-by,  Marian,  Svend. 


CHAPTER  XI 

INDIAN  FRIENDS 

White  Horse, 
Sept.  19,  1914. 

I  LEFT  Pleasant  Camp  early  in  the  morning  ten  days 
ago.  It  was  a  wonderful,  bright  morning  that  filled  me 
with  zest  and  confidence  in  myself.  The  roofs  of  the 
cabins  and  bare  spots  on  the  ground  round  about  were 
covered  with  a  sparkling  frost.  It  was  the  kind  of  a  morn- 
ing that  makes  one  want  to  run  into  the  woods,  whoop,  and 
jump  about  enjoying  life.  That  was  just  the  way  I  felt 
as  I  started  out  and  my  hosts  said  good-bye  and  urged  me 
to  come  and  see  them  on  my  next  round.  "Anyway,"  the 
missus  said,  "drop  us  a  line  and  let  us  know  how  you  fare 
in  there." 

I  walked  away  at  a  rapid  pace,  wondering  if  they  would 
regret  having  been  so  nice  to  me  when  they  learned  what 
a  terrible  outlaw  I  really  was.  I  was  now  alone  again  and 
the  chances  were  that  I  wouldn't  see  any  one  till  I  reached 
Dalton  Post,  seventy-five  miles  away.  I  thought  of  Dalton 
Post,  Paddy  and  Princess,  and  knowing  that  I  was  welcome 
there,  almost  dreaded  going.  Would  they  tempt  me  to 
stay  and  become  a  squaw  man?  I  knew  they  would  tempt 
me  but  would  I  do  it  ?  I  would  be  safe  there.  The  Indians 
would  never  let  any  one  catch  me,  once  I  had  joined  their 
tribe.  They  would  let  me  know  in  advance  if  any  one  was 
coming  for  me  and  there  were  countless  out  of  the  way 
places  where  I  could  go  where  my  capture  would  be  practi- 
cally impossible.  And  Princess  would  always  be  with  me. 
We'd  live  a  wild,  free,  fearless  life  out  there  in  the  moun- 
tains, hunting  and  trapping  for  our  living.    It  seemed  al- 

97 


98  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

most  too  good,  yet  I  shuddered  at  the  thought.  I  would 
never  get  to  the  outside  again.  I  would  be  chained  there, 
not  only  by  the  bonds  of  marriage  and  by  my  children,  but 
by  fear  of  the  authorities  who  would  know  where  I  was 
and  would  be  on  the  lookout  for  me  at  all  times.  And  I 
would  never  even  dare  think  of  Marian  again.  No,  no,  no,  I 
wouldn't  stay  in  Dalton  Post.  I  would  hurry  through  to 
some  place  where  I  would  be  lost  to  the  authorities  and  be 
really  free  once  more.  I  put  thoughts  of  Dalton  Post  and 
Princess  out  of  my  head  and  paid  attention  to  the  scenery. 

Of  course,  when  I  write  thus  of  Princess  in  my  diary  that 
I  know  Marian  will  read,  I  am  going  against  all  precedent. 
When  a  man  loves  a  girl,  he  should,  no  doubt,  think  of  noth- 
ing but  her  and  never  for  a  moment  imagine  marriage  with 
another  woman.  At  least,  he  should  never  let  his  girl  know 
that  he  does.  But  though  I  love  Marian  and  her  only,  I  am 
writing  the  truth  in  my  diary  and  I  feel  that  I  must  tell  the 
whole  truth  or  nothing  at  all.  Under  the  circumstances,  it 
is  only  natural  that  I  should  consider  Dalton  Post. 

I  came  through  the  diggings !  my  Riggings !  I  did  not  en- 
joy that  one  bit. 

I  hurried  on,  keeping  my  eyes  on  the  scenery  about  me. 
The  mountains  were  truly  wonderful.  The  road  to  Rainy 
Hollow  ran  up  at  an  easy  grade  toward  the  summits  ahead. 
There  was  snow  up  there  where  I  must  go  and  there  was 
new  snow  on  the  tops  of  the  mountains  around  me.  I  felt 
small  and  weak  when  I  realized  the  magnitude  of  the  things 
and  forces  around  me.  What  if  I  should  get  sick  up  there 
in  the  mountains  ?  What  if  I  should  fall  and  break  my  leg 
or  get  hurt  so  I  could  not  travel  ?  What  if  I  should  meet  a 
grizzly  bear  determined  on  my  destruction?  What  if  I 
should  drown  in  one  of  the  many  streams  I  had  to  cross? 
What  if  I  should  be  caught  in  a  blizzard  up  there  in  the 
vast,  white  desert?  Fear,  sickly,  clammy  fear  was  slowly 
gripping  me.  I  stopped  and  sat  down  with  a  feeling  of 
weariness  and  cowardice.  Then  I  thought  of  what  the 
missionary  had  said  and  I  asked  for  strength  and  somehow 


INDIAN  FRIENDS  99 

my  fears  faded  away  and  I  got  up  and  moved  on  and  was 
happy  once  again. 

Up  to  the  east  of  Ramy  Hollow  a  monster  glacier  comes 
straight  down  a  steep  canyon  between  two  mountain  peaks. 
A  giant,  frozen  avalanche  of  blue  ice,  mud  and  bowlders  is 
sliding  slowly  down  and  as  it  reaches  the  foot  of  the  can- 
yon, melts  into  a  gray  muddy  stream  that  tumbles,  rumbles 
and  roars  down  through  deep  canyons  and  over  wide  flats 
and  is  called  the  Klihinah. 

Here  ended  the  Rainy  Hollow  road.  I  took  a  steep  trail 
that  led  up  Mineral  Mountain,  one  of  the  Rainy  Hollow 
copper  mountains.  When  I  got  up  above  the  alders  I  left 
the  trail,  climbed  to  a  small  knoll  and  looked  back  over  the 
country  that  I  had  passed  through.  Away  down  below  me 
was  the  Klihinah,  like  a  white  streak  from  rapid  to  rapid, 
far  down  the  valley  as  far  as  I  could  see,  till  the  mountains 
swallowed  it.  The  sun  shone  beautifully  on  the  dark  green 
forest  below,  spotted  with  patches  of  brown,  red,  and  yel- 
low-gold of  the  cotton  woods,  birch  and  willow.  Here  and 
there  in  the  depth  of  the  forest  shone  small  lakes  like  mir- 
rors in  the  sunshine,  and  about  it  all  was  the  pearl  studded 
frame  of  the  snow-capped,  glacier-adorned  mountains.  The 
air  was  cool  and  refreshing  and  a  fine  breeze  came  up  from 
the  canyon.  It  was  so  wonderful  that  I  wanted  to  embrace 
it  all  and  live  in  it  forever.  Yet,  there  was  something  mis- 
sing. I  longed  for  a  mate  to  share  with  me  the  beauty  of 
it  all.  Oh,  if  I  only  could  have  had  my  mate  at  my  side 
and  said,  "This  is  all  our  own.  This  whole  world  was  made 
for  you  and  me  to  live  in  and  be  happy." 

But  I  had  no  time  for  idle  dreaming.  I  had  to  push  on, 
for  the  sun  was  about  as  high  as  it  would  get  that  day  and 
I  had  a  long  way  to  go  before  I  would  reach  my  first  camp- 
ing place. 

The  bench  that  I  was  on  ran  up  by  a  clear,  tumbling  creek 
so  I  stopped  in  a  hollow  and  had  dinner. 

"Keep  well  to  your  left,"  Paddy  had  told  me  once  about 
this  short  cut.    "Keep  well  up  on  the  left  side  of  the  canyon, 


loo  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

and  when  you  get  to  the  first  lake,  go  right  over  the  range 
to  the  left."  So  I  kept  on  the  left  bank  of  the  creek,  up 
over  a  series  of  benches  that  were  like  giant  stairs  leading  to 
the  sky.  There  was  a  thin  film  of  snow  on  the  ground  and 
the  wind  grew  chilly.  There  were  numerous  whistling  mar- 
mots and  gophers  making  ready  for  the  winter,  I  think,  fof 
they  were  rushing  around  with  bunches  of  moss  and  g^ss 
in  their  mouths.  And  there  were  many  tracks  of  caribou, 
moose  and  goats,  but  they  were  very  old.  I  came  to  the 
place  where  the  creek  ran  out  of  a  lake  but  here  the  moun- 
tains rose  almost  straight  up  on  my  left  and  it  was  impos- 
sible to  go  over  with  my  pack  on  my  back.  Then  I  began 
to  wonder  if  I  were  lost,  if  I  had  misunderstood  Paddy  and 
if  it  were  to  the  right  that  I  should  go.  The  snow  grew 
thicker  as  I  climbed  higher  and  the  lakes  were  filmed  over 
with  ice.    Winter  was  coming  fast  up  there. 

I  finally  reached  the  summit  and  looked  over  the  other 
side  of  the  range.  A  wonderful  sight  greeted  me.  Below 
was  the  prettiest  valley  I  have  ever  seen ;  green  velvet  g^ass 
everywhere,  rolling  hills  and  long  benches  of  it,  with  a  string 
of  lakes  down  the  center  of  the  valley,  connected  by  a  tiny 
stream,  like  a  silver  necklace  set  with  great  sapphires. 
There  was  no  wind  down  there,  although  a  fresh  breeze 
was  blowing  around  me,  and  the  reflections  of  the  opposite 
mountains  filled  the  lakes  with  fairy  mysteries.  I  had  to 
stop  and  wonder  at  it  but  the  cold  wind  soon  spurred  me  on. 
This  was,  no  doubt,  the  lake  that  Paddy  had  spoken  of,  for 
to  my  left  was  a  natural  grade  over  the  mountain. 

I  soon  reached  the  summit  and  there  again  was  a  lake  on 
the  very  top  of  the  range.  There  was  no  ice  here,  for  it  was 
spread  open  to  the  winds  that  kept  it  in  constant  motion. 
A  flock  of  ducks  had  settled  on  the  water  for  a  rest  on  their 
southward  journey.  They  were  tired,  no  doubt,  for  they 
allowed  me  to  come  quite  close.  Smack !  smack !  spoke  my 
automatic  rifle  and  with  much  splashing  and  quacking  they 
rose  from  the  water  and  flew  to  the  other  end  of  the  lake 
where  they  settled  again.    But  two  of  them  were  left  be- 


INDIAN  FRIENDS  lOl 

hind  and  lay  at  the  edge  of  the  shore.  I  pulled  them  in  with 
my  gun,  drew  them  and  strapped  them  on  my  pack. 

A  level  stretch  of  mountain  top  lay  ahead  of  me,  and,  as 
I  was  cold,  I  broke  into  a  run.  Never  before  did  I  run  so 
far  with  a  pack  on  my  back  without  stopping  to  catch  my 
breath.  I  marveled  at  the  ease  with  which  I  covered  the 
ground.  Now  the  trail  went  down  hill  and  below  me  as  far 
as  the  eye  could  see  stretched  Mosquito  Flats,  while  far 
away  to  the  north  was  a  little  grove  of  trees  in  a  hollow. 
That  was  where  I  intended  to  camp  for  the  night.  There  is 
an  old  cabin  there  and  it  is  called  Glacier  Camp.  I  ran 
down  through  a  long  canyon  to  the  flats.  This  was  a  ptarmi- 
gan country,  and  from  every  patch  of  willows  that  I  plunged 
through,  families  of  them  flew  up  and  whirred  oflf  a  hundred 
feet  or  so  and  then  hid  in  the  grass.  I  must  have  scared  a 
thousand  or  more  of  them  as  I  walked  along  that  afternoon 
but  I  did  not  kill  any,  as  the  big  mallard  ducks  were  a-plenty 
for  me  for  supper  and  breakfast. 

I  crossed  a  creek  in  the  middle  of  the  flats  and  came  upon 
the  old  Dalton  trail  which  made  a  straight  line  for  Glacier 
Camp.  In  every  muddy  or  sandy  place  I  saw  lots  of  tracks 
of  bear  and  wolf.  They  use  the  trail  to  cross  from  the  Alsik 
valley  to  the  Chilkat  valley  and  no  doubt  went  that  way  long 
before  man  ever  did. 

Glacier  Creek  comes  out  from  a  deep  canyon  and  crosses 
the  flats  three  times,  and  each  time  it  crossed  I  had  to  ford 
it  through  the  ice  cold,  rushing  water  reaching  to  my  waist. 
Finally,  after  much  wading  and  getting  frozen  stiff  with 
the  water,  I  got  into  the  grove  of  spruce  trees  that  I  had 
seen  from  afar  on  the  summit.  Another  mile,  and  as  the 
sun  settled  down  behind  the  round  mountains  to  the  west, 
I  made  camp  by  the  old  rickety  cabin  called  Glacier  Camp. 
There  was  wood  and  a  stove  in  there  and  I  tried  to  make 
a  fire  but  it  smoked  so  badly  that  I  made  a  fire  outside  and 
put  on  my  tea  water  and  rice.  Then  I  plucked  one  of  the 
ducks,  fried  a  slice  of  bacon,  cut  the  duck  meat  in  slices  and 


102  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

fried  it  in  the  grease  with  a  little  water.  Soon  my  supper 
was  ready  and  I  sat  down  to  eat  by  the  fire. 

Suddenly  I  heard  a  noise  behind  the  cabin,  and  as  I 
reached  for  my  gun,  I  saw  through  the  smoke  and  the  eve- 
ning gloom  a  dark  object  come  out  through  the  brush.  I 
jumped  to  my  feet  but  soon  saw  that  it  was  a  man,  an  In- 
dian.   It  was  Hokashanta  John. 

"Hello,"  he  greeted,  "where  you  going?" 

"Inside,"  said  I.  "Sit  down  and  have  a  cup  of  tea.  You 
eat  supper  yet?" 

"Yes,  I  eat." 

"All  right,  have  a  cup  of  tea,  anyway.    Where  you  go  ?" 

"I  go  Haines.  I  catch  young  fox.  Black  fox.  I  go 
Haines  sell.  I  buy  flour,  bacon.  I  got  two  pack  horse. 
Maybe  come  back  soon.    You  see  Pete  ?" 

"Yes,"  I  answered,  "Pete  catch  fifteen  fox,  ten  days. 
Two  cross,  one  silver,  twelve  red.  Pete  rich  man  some 
day." 

"You  think  so?  Pete  fine  man.  All  same  white  man. 
Pete  fine  Indian." 

"How's  Paddy?"  I  asked. 

"Paddy,  he  Dalton  House.  He  trap  this  winter,  Gar- 
ence.  Qarence  fine  man."  Hokashanta  John  was  evidently 
fond  of  praising  people.  "You  see  Paddy,  Dalton  House," 
he  continued.    "You  tell  you  see  me  all  right." 

"All  right,  I  tell  him,"  said  I  and  got  up  and  entered  the 
cabin.  The  conversation  had  lasted  all  through  the  meal, 
for  Hokashanta  spoke  with  great  intervals  between  sen- 
tences. He  was  an  old  Indian,  rather  small  of  stature,  very 
dark  and  wrinkled,  with  kind,  twinkling,  black  eyes  and  an 
exceedingly  sparse  mustache  hanging  down  at  the  corners 
of  his  mouth.  I  was  about  to  roll  out  my  blankets  and  make 
my  bed  when  he  came  in  and  said,  "You  come  my  camp 
sleep.  I  give  you  blankets.  You  no  take,  you  get  sick. 
Pretty  soon  winter  come.    You  freeze,  maybe  die." 

He  evidently  thought  that  I  hadn't  enough  blankets.  I 
had  a  heavy  piece  of  canvas  and  one  warm,  woolen  blanket 


INDIAN  FRIENDS  103 

and  I  could  sleep  very  well,  but  I  rolled  up  my  pack  and 
went  with  the  little,  old  Indian  to  his  camp.  It  was  under 
a  large,  branchy  spruce  tree.  There  was  a  fire,  a  lean-to 
canvas  and  a  great  bundle  of  blankets.  A  pair  of  good 
horses  grazed  near  by,  their  sleek  sides  glistening  in  the 
firelight.  Two  cages  stood  on  the  ground  near  the  tree  and 
I  could  hear  the  young  foxes  scurrying  around  in  them. 

"This  my  cache,"  John  said,  pointing  up  into  the  tree, 
and  I  saw  all  sorts  of  things  hanging  in  the  branches.  There 
were  strips  of  dried  sheep  and  moose  meat,  skins  of  whist- 
lers, bladders  full  of  gopher  grease  and  a  sack  full  of  dried 
salmon,  while  a  big  piece  of  canvas  was  spread  over  it  all 
like  a  tent  to  keep  the  rain  off.  The  Stick  Indians  have 
caches  like  that  all  over  the  country.  They  trap  in  the 
winter,  and  as  blizzards  are  very  frequent,  they  want  to  be 
always  near  a  cache  where  there  is  wood  cut  and  plenty 
of  grub. 

The  old  Indian  rolled  his  blanket  roll  over  to  the  lean-to 
and  made  the  bed.  There  were  two  big,  heavy  blankets 
and  three  long  robes  of  fur,  one  of  whistlers  and  two  of 
gopher  skins.  Then,  when  the  bed  was  made,  we  took  off 
our  footwear  and  crawled  in  together.  It  was  the  first  time 
I  had  ever  slept  with  an  Indian  and  I  felt  decidedly  queer. 
He  smelled  of  fish  and  gopher  grease,  for  he  was  old,  and  I 
think,  not  very  fond  of  water.  He  had  rubbed  himself  in 
grease  to  keep  the  damp  fall  air  away  from  his  skin,  and 
while  the  fragrance  was  very  pleasing  to  his  nostrils,  it  was 
beastly  unpleasant  to  mine.  I  rolled  in  with  him,  neverthe- 
less, as  it  would  have  been  a  violation  of  hospitality  to  re- 
fuse. But  the  smell  was  not  the  worst  of  it.  When  the  old 
man  fell  asleep,  he  began  to  groan  in  the  most  horrible 
fashion,  and  it  was  lucky  for  me  that  I  was  dead  tired  and 
soon  fell  into  a  deep  sleep.  I  woke  up  once  or  twice  during 
the  night  when  the  horses  snorted  at  some  passing  night 
prowler,  put  some  wood  on  the  fire  and  crept  back  into  bed 
and  slept  on. 

Before  daylight  Hokashanta  John  was  up  and  had  the 


I04  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

breakfast  cooking.  During  the  night  a  storm  had  blown 
up  and  it  was  now  blowing  a  gale  with  a  drizzly  rain  driving 
along.  I  got  out  my  duck  and  soon  had  it  plucked,  and  with 
duck  meat  and  strips  of  dried  sheep  meat,  we  had  a  fine 
breakfast  together.  I  helped  the  old  man  pack  up  his  horses 
in  silence,  for  the  Indians  are  not  fond  of  idle  chatter  and 
we  had  said  all  that  it  was  necessary  to  know,  at  supper  the 
night  before.  He  gave  me  a  big  gopher  skin  robe  and  said 
that  I  could  keep  it  and  I  thanked  him.  That  was  about  all 
that  was  said  till  he  went  away,  saying,  "Good-by,  big  man. 
Some  day  you  come  back  Dalton  House.  Come  see  old 
Hokashanta  John.  He  good  friend  you.  Maybe  give  you 
squaw." 

"All  right,  John,"  I  said,  and  we  each  went  our  way. 
Noon  found  me  trotting  and  sliding  down  a  small  valley 
from  lake  to  lake.  Alaska,  like  Finland,  could  be  called  the 
land  of  a  thousand  lakes,  for  everywhere  I  have  been  there 
were  lakes  and  more  lakes. 

In  a  canyon  near  the  bottom  of  the  Alsik  valley  there  is 
an  old  cabin  called  Bear  Camp.  Its  name  is  surely  justified, 
for  although  I  didn't  see  any  bears,  there  were  numerous 
tracks,  ranging  from  small  cubs  to  the  twelve  inch  wide 
tracks  of  the  grizzly  that  can  be  distinguished  by  the  deep 
claw  marks.  There  was  a  regular  beaten  path  on  each  side 
of  the  creek,  where  for  centuries  bears  have  walked  along 
fishing  for  salmon.  It  was  after  noon  when  I  passed  there 
but  I  wanted  to  ford  the  Alsik  river  before  I  camped  for 
dinner,  so  I  kept  on  down  the  trail  and  over  the  flat  to  the 
edge  of  the  stream.  But  when  I  saw  it  and  found  that  the 
water  was  higher  than  the  last  time  I  had  crossed  it,  I 
decided  that  if  I  had  to  risk  my  life  crossing  the  river,  I 
might  as  well  have  the  pleasure  of  eating  first. 

I  built  a  fire,  cooked  two  ptarmigan,  a  pot  of  rice,  a  ban- 
nock and  tea  and  ate  a  hearty  meal.  Then  I  took  my  quar- 
ter of  an  hour's  rest, 

I  took  my  gun  and  lashed  it  to  my  pack,  took  the  pack 
and  placed  it  on  top  of  my  head  and  then  waded  out  into 


INDIAN  FRIENDS  105 

the  river.  The  water  was  icy  cold  but  the  red  hot  tea  had 
warmed  my  insides;  so  it  was  some  time  before  I  felt 
the  numbing  chill.  The  water  was  up  to  my  armpits  for 
two  hundred  yards  or  more  and  it  was  lucky  that  the  river 
was  sluggish  in  this  particular  place.  I  was  numb  long  be- 
fore I  reached  the  other  side  and  several  times  I  almost  lost 
my  pack  when  I  slipped  on  the  slimy  bowlders.  Cold  and 
stiff  I  crawled  out  on  the  bank  and  sat  down  to  pull  off  my 
clothes  and  wring  them  out.  I  did  not  take  time  to  build  a 
fire  and  get  warm  but  went  on  as  soon  as  I  was  dressed. 

On  that  side  of  the  river  the  foothills  rose  straight  up 
from  the  bank  and  the  trail  led  me  up  a  steep  gulch,  then 
zigzagged  up  the  side  of  the  hill  to  a  high,  long  bench. 
Away  up  ahead  of  me  on  the  sloping  bench  I  saw  something 
move,  or  thought  I  did,  something  that  was  larger  than  a 
gopher  or  a  whistler.  Then  a  flimsy  bank  of  fog  came 
drifting  up  from  the  river  and  hid  it  from  my  sight  and  I 
forgot  about  it. 

Suddenly  the  mist  passed  away  and  right  there  in  front  of 
me,  digging  like  mad  in  a  gopher  hill,  making  the  rocks  and 
dirt  just  fly,  was  a  monster  grizzly  bear.  I  stopped,  struck 
dumb  with  surprise.  I  didn't  dare  run,  for  then  he  would 
surely  see  me  and  take  after  me,  and  that  would  be  the  end 
of  the  world  for  me.  I  was  afraid  to  move  for  fear  he 
would  see  me,  for  one  never  knows  what  a  grizzly  bear  will 
do.  He  is  just  as  liable  to  attack  a  man  as  to  run  away. 
The  beast  was  too  busy  digging  to  see  me,  although  I  was 
less  than  a  hundred  feet  away,  but  when  a  puff  of  wind 
blew  my  scent  over  to  him,  he  gave  a  "whoof"  and  squatted 
on  his  haunches,  ready  to  defend  himself.  He  stared  malig- 
nantly right  at  me.  My  heart  stopped  beating  for  a  moment 
or  two,  then  I  slowly  raised  my  miserable  little  .22  automa- 
tic rifle  and  slipped  off  the  safety  catch.  I  knew  that  it 
would  be  suicide  to  open  fire  with  that  gun  there  in  the 
open.  The  brute  would  get  to  me  in  a  few  jumps,  yet  I 
would  have  shot  if  he  had  started  toward  me.  I  would 
have  tried  to  shoot  him  in  the  eye,  blinding  him,  for  I  was 


io6  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

not  going  to  pass  away  without  a  fight.  I  unslung  my  pack 
as  quietly  as  possible  so  that  I  wouldn't  appear  in  any  way 
antagonistic  and  the  bear  just  sat  there  watching  me,  wrig- 
gling his  ears  as  though  he  were  amused  at  my  presence. 
He  was  a  big  brute,  about  as  tall  as  I  as  he  sat  there,  and 
he  looked  as  big  as  an  elephant  to  me.  His  breath  came  in 
long,  steady  clouds  of  steam,  for  he  was  not  a  bit  excited 
and  his  small  eyes  twinkled  at  me.  I  lost  some  of  my  first 
dread,  for  he  didn't  seem  to  wish  me  any  harm  and  looked 
more  curious  than  anything  else.  Yet,  I  couldn't  stand  there 
all  day  staring  at  him.  He  might  take  a  notion  that  I  was 
afraid  of  him  and  come  for  me.  I  had  to  do  something,  so 
I  decided  to  pass  him  as  if  I  didn't  care  anything  about 
him  at  all.  I  put  the  pack  on  my  shoulders  and  started  off 
along  the  trail.  I  had  to  pass  within  fifty  feet  of  him  and 
it  took  all  the  nerve  I  had.  The  monster  didn't  even  get  up 
as  I  passed  but  just  sat  there,  screwing  himself  around  fac- 
ing me.  I  kept  my  eye  on  him  while  passing  and  I  kept 
looking  over  my  shoulder  when  he  was  behind  me.  Then, 
when  I  had  gone  about  a  hundred  feet  away,  he  got  up  on 
all  fours,  walked  over  to  the  trail,  sniffed  at  my  tracks  and 
in  the  air  and  then  started  after  me  at  a  walk.  No  doubt  he 
smelled  the  bacon  I  had  in  my  pack.  I  was  panic  stricken 
and  it  was  only  with  the  greatest  effort  that  I  kept  from 
breaking  into  a  run.  Had  I  done  so,  I  believe  that  the  bear 
would  have  chased  me  and  killed  me.  I  kept  on  walking 
fast,  looking  back  very  often,  and  once  when  I  looked  back 
I  saw  that  the  bear  was  off  the  trail  digging  for  gophers 
again.  A  small  ridge  got  in  between  us  and  then  I  ran  as 
I  never  ran  before  and  soon  I  was  some  distance  from 
where  I  had  last  seen  him. 

I  came  to  a  deep  canyon  with  steep  sides  and  a  tumbling 
brook  in  the  bottom.  Here  I  should  have  camped  for  the 
night,  for  there  was  lots  of  wood,  but  I  thought  that  I  could 
make  the  next  canyon,  (there  are  three  of  them  cutting  up 
this  long  bench)  so  I  climbed  the  other  bank  and  hastened 


INDIAN  FRIENDS  107 

to  reach  the  next  one.  I  suffered  for  it.  The  night  caught 
me  up  there  on  the  windy  bench. 

It  was  a  good  thing  for  me  that  Hokashanta  John  had 
given  me  that  fur  robe,  for  it  turned  cold,  and  with  my 
damp  clothes,  I  would  have  been  pretty  uncomfortable  with 
only  one  woolen  blanket  and  a  piece  of  canvas.  The  gopher 
skin  robe  was  soft  and  astonishingly  warm,  and  I  rested 
fairly  well. 

By  daybreak  my  breakfast  was  cooked  and  eaten,  my 
blankets  were  rolled  and  I  was  on  the  way.  Five  inches  of 
snow  had  fallen  that  night,  but  I  had  been  over  that  trail 
once  before,  so  I  knew  the  general  direction  and  got  along 
all  right.  After  I  had  crossed  the  third  canyon,  the  bench 
began  to  slope  downward,  ending  in  a  long  draw  with  a 
creek  that  began  in  a  string  of  lakes  that  lay,  one  above  an- 
other, on  the  bench.  Here  the  woods  began  and  there  was 
no  snow  and  soon  I  was  traveling  through  a  heavy  forest. 
The  sun  came  out  and  things  began  to  look  more  cheerful. 
Rabbits  ran  across  the  trail  in  front  of  me  and  a  big  bull 
moose  that  was  browsing  on  the  leaves  of  a  willow,  snorted 
as  he  saw  me  come  around  a  curve  and  rushed  off  into  the 
deep  woods,  his  antlers  beating  a  tatoo  on  the  limbs  and 
small  trees  as  he  crashed  through.  He  gave  me  quite  a 
scare,  too.  I  killed  three  spruce  hens  that  flew  up  in  a  tree 
directly  above  me  with  a  great  noise  and  flutter.  Whenever 
I  stopped  to  rest  I  took  care  to  select  a  spot  where  there 
were  lots  of  berries,  thus  accomplishing  two  things  at  once. 
The  trail  dropped  down  a  steep  ravine  to  the  Alsik.  I 
forded  the  stream  on  a  slanting  riflle.  I  built  a  fire  on  the 
other  side,  dried  my  clothes,  fried  my  spruce  hens  and  had 
dinner.  Then  I  found  an  almost  invisible  trail  that  led  to 
Dalton  Post.  I  crossed  the  Klukshoo  river  and  there  on 
the  other  side  in  the  underbrush  stood  Princess. 

Her  hair  was  done  in  two  long  braids  that  hung,  one  on 
each  side  of  her  head  and  reached  to  her  waist.  She  wore 
a  coat  and  skirt  of  buckskin  embroidered  with  many  porcu- 
pine quills  in  fanciful  patterns.    The  seams  were  finished 


io8  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

with  little  fringes  of  skin.  Her  little  feet  Were  in  prettily 
embroidered  moccasins.  She  looked  very  sweet  and  beau- 
tiful. I  don't  know  how  she  knew  I  was  coming,  maybe  she 
had  seen  me  crossing  the  river,  or  maybe  she  had  seen  my 
smoke  and  guessed  that  it  was  I.  She  said  that  she  had  been 
waiting  for  me,  and  placing  her  hands  on  my  shoulders,  she 
kissed  me  squarely  on  the  lips.  I  couldn't  help  it !  she  was 
so  sweet  and  appealing  that  I  kissed  her,  too.  Then  she 
broke  away,  and  running  through  the  brush,  disappeared. 

Another  two  hundred  yards  and  I  was  in  the  clearing. 
Paddy  Duncan  was  sitting  outside  his  cabin  and  Princess 
was  there  talking  excitedly. 

"Hello,  Hootsklahoo,"  he  called  to  me  as  I  hove  in  sight. 
"Welcome,  welcome.  Where  you  come  from?"  Princess 
slipped  out  of  sight  behind  the  cabin. 

"I  come  from  outside,"  I  said.  "I  had  big  trouble  in 
Skagway.  Got  in  jail.  Broke  out.  Locked  jailer  in.  Ran 
away  over  mountain  to  Chilkat.  Came  over  Dalton  trail 
here."  I  could  hear  the  squaws  chatter  excitedly  behind  the 
cabin. 

"Where  you  get  grub  ?"  Paddy  asked,  surveying  my  pack 
that  I  had  placed  on  the  ground  and  squatted  upon. 

"Klukwan.     Good  friends  Klukwan." 

"I  know,"  Paddy  said.  "Good  man,  him.  You  see  Ho- 
kashanta  John,  Dalton  trail  ?" 

"Yes,  I  see  him  Glacier  Camp.  He's  all  right.  Fox  all 
right,  too.  He  give  me  fur  robe.  Hokashanta  good  man. 
He  told  me  to  wait  here.  He  give  me  squaw,"  I  said,  and 
laughed  and  there  was  a  great  commotion  behind  the  house 
where  a  bunch  of  squaws  had  gathered  and  were  eagerly 
catching  the  news  at  long  distance.  "Where  is  Qarence?" 
I  asked. 

"He  go  catch  fish.  Come  back  soon.  You  stay  here  rest. 
How  much  you  pack?"  He  came  over  to  my  pack  and  lifted 
it.  "Huh !  much  heavy.  You  strong  man.  How  many  days 
3'ou  come  Pleasant  Camp?" 

"This  is  the  third  day." 


INDIAN  FRIENDS  109 

"Oh,  my !"  He  shook  his  head,  "you  bull  moose.  I  glad 
you  come  here.  You  stay  here.  I  give  you  Princess.  I 
pay  squaw.  Princess  say  he  like  you.  He  fine  squaw."  He 
shook  his  head  from  side  to  side  to  emphasize  the  last  word. 

Clarence,  who  is  married  to  a  squaw  at  Dalton  Post,  came 
up  to  us  with  two  big  salmon,  "Hello,  Svend,"  he  called, 
"where  do  you  come  from?  I  thought  you  were  away  in 
on  the  Yukon  by  this  time." 

I  told  him  my  story  with  more  detail  than  I  had  given  to 
the  Indians.  He  could  appreciate  the  small  side  lights.  An 
Indian  needs  only  to  hear  the  main  issues  of  the  story  and 
he  knows  or  imagines  the  rest.  When  I  told  him  of  locking 
the  jailer  in,  he  danced  a  jig  on  the  porch  of  the  cabin  and 
laughed  and  shouted.  "You're  all  right  and  all  man. 
There's  nothing  I  like  to  hear  better  than  that  you  got  away 
from  them  low  down  polecats.  Good  for  you!  You  stay 
right  here  and  trap  with  Paddy  and  me  this  winter."  Then 
he  turned  to  Paddy  and  said,  "Guess  we  can  manage  to  get 
him  a  squaw,  hey  Paddy?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  Indian,  "I  tell  him  Princess,  he  good 
squaw.  I  tell  him  he  no  pay  nothing."  (The  Indians  insist 
in  saying  he  for  she.) 

"There,  you  see,"  said  Clarence  with  great  finality.  "Prin- 
cess is  a  fine  kid.  If  I  weren't  married,  I'd  take  her  myself. 
We  got  all  the  grub  we  need  and  then  some.  You  can  make 
a  good  stake  trapping  here  and  live  like  a  prince.  What  do 
you  say  to  that  ?" 

I  didn't  know  just  what  to  say.  I  thought  of  what  lay 
ahead  of  me.  I  might  get  caught  and  be  sent  back  to  the 
jail  and  later  to  the  penitentiary.  We  had  gone  into  the 
house  and  I  could  see  Princess  watching  me  through  a  brok- 
en pane  in  the  window,  waiting  eagerly  to  hear  my  answer 
and  I  hated  to  speak,  but  I  had  to  and  she  might  as  well  hear 
now  as  later.  I  turned  to  face  Oarence  squarely  and  said, 
"No,  friend  Clarence,  I  can't  do  it.  I  have  a  girl  in  Cali- 
fornia and  I  love  her  and  expect  to  marry  her  some  day.    I 


no  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

thank  you  and  Paddy  for  your  kindness  and  your  good  will 
but  I  cannot  marry  Princess.    I  am  sorry." 

"You  don't  have  to  marry  her,"  Clarence  spoke  hastily. 
"I  just  thought  I  would  oblige  you  by  saying  that.  You 
can  stay  here  and  trap  with  us.  We'll  give  you  a  cabin  and 
everything.  You  can't  go  out,  they'll  get  you,  sure  as  hell 
and  you're  too  good  a  man  to  rot  in  prison.  I  know  you 
want  to  get  where  you  can  hear  from  your  girl  and  know 
what's  going  on  in  the  world,  but  you  can  stand  it  for  one 
winter  in  here.  I've  been  here  fifteen  years  and  I  don't  give 
a  damn  if  I  never  get  out." 

Such  arguments  were  hard  for  a  man  in  my  predicament 
to  resist,  but  I  knew  myself  too  well.  My  intentions  might 
be  all  right  and  my  love  for  my  white  girl  sure  and  true,  but 
to  spend  a  whole  winter  away  from  the  world  with  hardly 
any  news  and  with  a  pretty  young  Indian  girl  making  eyes 
at  me  and  wanting  to  marry  me,  would  shatter  my  good 
intentions,  for  I  was  only  human. 

"No,  Clarence,"  I  said,  shaking  my  head,  "I  thank  you 
€ver  so  much  but  I  can't  do  it.  I  must  get  out  and  work 
my  way  through." 

"All  right,"  he  said,  "but  remember,  if  you  can't  find  any- 
thing to  do  and  get  in  a  tight  fix,  make  you  way  back  here. 
You  are  welcome  any  time  and  you  can  eat  as  long  as  I  got 
anything  to  eat." 

Paddy  felt  a  bit  abused  at  my  refusing  his  offer.  He 
couldn't  understand  why  any  man  should  refuse  to  marry 
Princess  and  he  walked  about  the  cabin  saying  nothing  and 
shaking  his  head. 

I  left  Dalton  Post  that  same  afternoon.  Before  I  went 
away  Paddy  gave  me  a  tin  can  and  said,  "When  you  get  to 
Klukshoo  lake  you  see  lots  bear.  All  bear  go  Klukshoo  lake 
catch  fish.  Sometimes  sleep  near  trail.  You  take  tin  can, 
put  in  small  rock.  Make  big  noise.  Scare  bear  away. 
Sometime  you  come  back  Dalton  House.  I  give  you 
squaw." 


INDIAN  FRIENDS  iii 

I  said  good-by  and  left  them  all  in  the  clearing  looking 
after  me. 

When  darkness  fell,  I  stopped  by  a  small  creek,  made 
camp  and  soon  had  my  supper  cooked,  my  shelter  made  and 
a  goodly  pile  of  logs  and  sticks  stacked  by  the  fire.  I  had 
to  keep  the  fire  burning  all  night  for  fear  of  the  bears  and 
wolves  that  infest  this  country. 

I  was  very  lonesome  that  night  and  lay  awake  a  long  time 
thinking  of  what  had  happened  during  the  day.  I  wondered 
if  I  were  right.  Here  I  was  alone  in  the  woods  with  only 
a  fire  to  comfort  me,  my  blankets  wet  and  the  earth  I  lay 
on  cold  and  damp  beneath  me.  I  might  have  been  in  a  warm 
cabin  with  fur  robes  on  the  bed  and  a  loving  woman  for  my 
mate.  Oh,  well,  this  world  is  a  queer  place.  I  live  in  the 
future.  When  the  future  comes,  shall  I  still  live  in  the 
future,  I  wonder,  or  shall  I  have  my  mate  and  be  happy? 
I  doubted  it  that  lonesome  night,  I  doubted  if  I  should  ever 
be  happy. 

Then  came  the  blissful  sleep  that  only  the  man  who  has 
been  traveling  all  day  can  appreciate. 

In  the  early  morning  I  found  frost  settling  on  everything 
out  of  reach  of  the  heat  waves  that  were  radiating  from  my 
little  fire.  I  had  killed  a  spruce  hen  just  before  dark  and 
this  I  had  for  breakfast  with  the  customary  rice,  bannock 
and  tea.  Before  long  I  was  off  again.  All  the  sordid  doubts 
of  the  past  night  were  flown.  I  felt  at  one  with  the  clear 
freshness  about  me.  I  felt  that  I  maintained  my  integrity. 
True,  I  was  an  outlaw,  but  I  had  been  tempted  to  lower  my- 
self to  the  level  of  another  race  and  I  had  won  the  battle. 
And  was  not  this  enough  of  life  and  worth  living  for?  Oh, 
the  world  was  beautiful  that  morning!  The  blue  sky  over 
head  and  the  promise  of  a  sunshiny  day  seemed  to  make 
everything  gloriously  happy.  Little  squirrels  sat  around  in 
the  trees  chattering  gayly  at  me;  bluejays  flew  along  from 
limb  to  limb  above  me  and  peered  curiously  at  me,  occasion- 
ally scolding  me  for  disturbing  their  peaceful  woods  with 
my  presence,  while  now  and  then  a  flock  of  gfrouse  flew  up 


112  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

in  the  trees  above  the  trail  and  sat  there  looking  at  me,  first 
with  one  eye,  then  with  the  other,  as  if  to  make  very  sure 
of  me.  A  black  bear  trotted  hurriedly  into  the  underbrush 
as  I  approached  and  a  little  later  a  red  fox  crossed  the  trail 
like  a  streak,  then  stopped  and  sat  there  under  a  fallen  log, 
watching  me  as  I  passed. 

The  trail  went  up  and  down  over  rolling  hills,  through 
little  valleys  and  along  mountainsides.  Down  in  the  valley 
through  which  the  Klukshoo  river  ran  from  Klukshoo  lake 
to  the  Alsik  forming  half  a  dozen  lakes  in  hollows  along 
the  way,  I  found  all  kinds  of  bear  tracks.  Wherever  the 
trail  was  soft,  it  was  covered  completely  with  the  imprint  of 
their  paws.  They  were  all  going  to  Klukshoo  lake,  which 
is  the  spawning  ground  for  the  Alsik  sockeye  salmon.  It  is 
no  wonder  the  bears  were  there,  for  the  river  and  lakes 
were  full  of  fish,  white  fish,  grayling,  trout  and  salmon. 
Everywhere  they  were  jumping  out  of  the  water  and  falling 
in  with  great  splashes.  I  had  once  heard  that  when  the 
fish  do  this  a  storm  is  coming,  and  in  this  instance  there  was. 
While  I  was  stopping  for  dinner  the  first  blasts  of  wind 
came  soughing  through  the  treetops  and  big  drops  of  rain 
began  to  fall  one  by  one  here  and  there.  I  hurried  with  my 
meal  and  started  on  my  way  as  soon  as  I  could,  for  I  wanted 
to  get  as  far  as  possible  that  evening.  There  was  a  good 
camping  place  between  Klukshoo  and  Desdiash  lake  and  I'd 
have  to  go  some  to  reach  it  that  day.  Before  I  had  gone 
very  far  the  storm  broke  and  great  blasts  of  wind  sent  trees 
crashing  to  the  earth  and  the  air  was  full  of  branches  and 
leaves.  A  heavy  rain  began  to  drive  down  and  before  long 
I  was  wet  through.  It  was  dangerous  traveling,  for  I  never 
knew  when  a  tree  or  limb  would  fall  on  me,  but  I  wanted 
at  least  to  reach  Klukshoo  lake,  where  I  could  stop  at  the 
fish  camp  with  the  Stick  Indians.  I  was  sure  to  find  shelter 
there  for  the  night. 

I  was  making  pretty  good  time,  trotting  wherever  the  trail 
was  even  and  clear  enough,  and  at  about  three  o'clock  was 
approaching  Klukshoo  lake.    Along  the  trail  here  and  there 


INDIAN  FRIENDS  113 

were  rotting  salmon  that  the  bears  had  carried  there  and 
left  to  ripen.  I  had  forgotten  all  about  what  Paddy  said 
about  making  a  noise  with  the  can  and  it  was  lucky  for  me 
that  the  wind  carried  my  scent  ahead  of  me,  for  suddenly  a 
big,  brown  bear  jumped  up  from  a  clump  of  brush  close 
by  the  side  of  the  trail  right  ahead  of  me.  It  gave  a  vicious 
snort  and  a  swipe  with  its  paw  in  my  direction  and  rushed 
off  into  the  woods.  I  stopped  right  then,  got  the  can  off 
my  pack,  put  my  knife  and  some  nails  that  I  carried  in  my 
pocket  in  it,  and  made  all  the  noise  I  could  the  rest  of  the 
way  to  the  lake.     I  saw  no  more  bears. 

The  fish  camp  was  deserted.  I  made  my  camp  under  a 
shed  where  the  Indians  had  smoked  fish.  I  hiing  my  blan- 
kets, robe  and  canvas  up  under  the  rafters  and  made  a  big 
fire  to  dry  them.  Then  I  gathered  a  lot  of  old  rotten  and 
broken  logs  and  poles  from  nearby  sheds  and  fish  racks  and 
piled  them  up  beside  my  fire.  I  wanted  to  keep  a  good 
blaze  going  all  night,  for  there  were  bear  tracks  everywhere 
among  the  sheds  of  the  camp  and  I  knew  that  night  time 
was  when  they  were  about  doing  their  fishing. 

Down  by  the  edge  of  the  lake  a  flock  of  mallards  was 
quacking  and  feeding  in  the  reeds.  I  sneaked  down  there, 
crawling  on  hands  and  knees  part  of  the  time  to  get  near 
enough  and  I  got  two  of  them  before  they  had  time  to  fly 
away.  The  water  was  shallow,  so  I  waded  out  to  get  them. 
At  camp  I  stripped  naked  and  dried  my  clothes,  in  the 
meantime  plucking  my  game.  I  stuck  the  ducks  full  of 
holes  with  my  knife  and  in  the  holes  I  stuck  peppered  and 
salted  bacon  and  sat  there  turning  them  on  a  stick  over  the 
fire  till  they  were  roasted  through. 

As  I  looked  out  over  the  woods  and  hills  where  no  hu- 
mans lived,  it  seemed  to  me  that  I  was  the  first  man  in  a 
world  of  animals.  A  primeval  forest  dweller  sitting  there 
stark  naked  in  the  crudely  built  shed  roasting  my  meat  over 
the  fire.  Darkness  fell  early  that  night  and  even  before  it 
was  quite  night,  I  could  distinguish  great,  black  shapes  com- 
ing down  through  the  brush  to  the  lake.     Splash,  splash, 


114  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

splash,  went  a  monster  brute  right  past  my  camp,  jogging 
along  in  the  mud.  Then  it  stopped  a  few  moments  and, 
staring  out  into  the  darkness,  I  could  see  my  fire  reflected 
in  its  small  eyes  as  it  growled  and  glared  at  me,  sitting  there 
naked  as  itself  with  my  pitiful  little  gun  grasped  in  my 
hands.  Oh,  how  grateful  I  was  for  that  little  fire  that  kept 
the  beasts  from  getting  too  close  to  me.  I  didn't  sleep  very 
well  that  night.  I  kept  hearing  all  sorts  of  noises  and  I 
roused  often  to  keep  my  fire  burning  brightly.  I  heard  at 
least  a  dozen  bears  pass  by  down  to  the  water  and  they 
kept  me  pretty  well  awake  most  of  the  time  but  I  was  thank- 
ful to  have  lots  of  wood,  and  a  roof  over  me  to  keep  me 
warm  and  dry,  for  it  rained  hard  all  night  long. 

When  morning  came  the  world  was  gray  and  wet.  I  was 
wet  to  the  skin  before  I  had  gone  a  mile  and  was  neither 
comfortable  nor  cheerful.  I  hadn't  rested  well  on  account 
of  the  bears  and  now  I  had  to  keep  rattling  my  can  to  keep 
those  same  infernal  beasts  from  attacking,  and  it  irritated 
me.  Yet,  everything  has  an  end  and  before  noon  the  sun 
broke  through  the  clouds  and  filled  the  world  with  light 
and  joy. 

At  noon  I  stopped  at  a  river ;  I  don't  know  its  name.  The 
water  was  clear  and  deep  and  the  current  very  gentle.  I 
could  see  grayling  and  white  fish  swimming  about,  and  as 
I  hadn't  seen  any  game  that  morning,  I  got  out  my  fishing 
tackle,  cut  a  long  willow  for  a  pole,  and  soon  I  was  having 
a  fine  time  catching  a  dozen  grayling  for  my  dinner.  In  an 
hour  or  so  I  was  on  the  trail  again,  traveling  over  a  wide 
swamp  on  a  carpet  of  moss  that  swayed  under  my  weight 
and  kept  me  worrying  about  breaking  through  and  sinking 
into  the  mud,  or  whatever  it  was  that  lay  beneath.  After 
a  while  I  stirred  up  a  flock  of  caribou  as  large  as  cows  from 
a  grove  of  willow  and  cottonwood,  and  when  I  saw  them 
gallop  across  the  swamp,  I  knew  that  I  would  never  sink 
through  if  they  didn't.  At  the  edge  of  the  swamp  a  fine  red 
fox  sat  in  the  middle  of  the  trail  looking  at  me  as  I  came 
up  to  it    I  raised  my  gun  to  kill  it  but  before  I  could  take 


INDIAN  FRIENDS  115 

a  decent  aim,  it  seemed  to  divine  my  purpose  and  leaped 
into  the  brush  and  out  of  sight.  The  trail  now  led  up  over 
a  small  ridge  and  then  up  on  the  high  banks  of  Lake  Des- 
diash.  This  lake  stretches  along  for  about  forty  miles — a 
beautiful,  beautiful  sight;  surrounded  by  forest  clad  moun- 
tains with  white,  pearly  peaks  in  contrast  to  the  dark  green, 
and  the  brown,  red  and  yellow  of  the  autumn  leaves.  The 
reflection  in  the  water  seemed  to  be  even  more  wonderful 
than  the  mountains  themselves.  And  I  had  it  to  look  at 
all  afternoon  as  I  walked  along  on  the  high  banks  through  a 
meager  forest  of  scattered  spruce  and  small  cottonwood. 
I  got  a  couple  of  grouse  for  my  supper  and  stopped  by  a 
row  of  cabins  that  are  called  Desdiash  Village.  There  was 
no  one  there  and  the  cabins  were  all  locked  with  large  pad- 
locks, which  is  very  unusual  for  Alaska.  So  I  pitched  my 
camp  under  a  big  tree  and  slept  soundly  through  the  frosty 
night. 

The  morning  was  clear  and  cold  and  I  made  good  time. 
Through  swamps,  over  bluffs  and  along  long  benches  I  went. 
I  passed  an  old  Indian  fish  camp  called  Yon  Yack's  fish 
camp.  There  I  had  a  fine  view  of  Yon  Yack  mountain, 
which  is  named  after  an  old  Indian  who  is  supposed  to  be 
more  than  two  hundred  years  old  and  who  tells  that  when 
he  was  a  boy  the  mountain  was  nothing  but  a  knoll  and 
that  it  grew  with  him  and  got  larger  and  larger  the  older 
he  grew.  The  trail  led  between  this  and  another  towering 
mountain  on  its  way  through  woods,  over  ridges  and  across 
deep,  flat-bottomed  canyons  that  were  filled  with  fine,  white 
sand  and  dotted  with  willow  thickets  and  cottonwood 
groves,  and  shady  dark-green  pine  forests. 

Along  in  the  afternoon  the  sky  was  again  darkened  by 
clouds,  so  I  made  haste  to  reach  some  kind  of  a  camping 
place.  It  was  only  four  o'clock,  but  the  clouds  became  so 
heavy  that  it  suddenly  turned  dark.  I  could  tell  by  the  air 
that  something  tremendous  was  about  to  happen,  so,  in  a 
small  indentation  in  the  bank  of  a  canyon,  I  spread  my  can- 
vas over  a  few  bunches  of  brush  and  started  a  fire  outside, 


Ii6  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

but  no  sooner  was  my  fire  going  well  than  the  rain  came  in 
a  cloudburst.  It  simply  flooded  out  of  the  sky.  Out  went 
my  nice  fire  and  down  came  my  canvas  over  me.  There  was 
only  one  thing  to  do  and  that  was  to  get  everything  under 
the  canvas  and  stay  there  until  the  rain  stopped.  I  raised 
a  couple  of  sticks  under  the  middle  of  it  and  with  my  grub 
and  blankets  in  a  heap  in  the  center,  I  curled  up  and  tried 
to  sleep.  I  was  not  destined  to  sleep  that  night,  however, 
for  the  water  coming  down  the  hillside  formed  a  creek  that 
ran  right  through  my  little  lair.  I  dug  a  canal  with  my 
hands  and  hatchet  and  led  the  water  around  my  grub  but 
I  had  to  stand  by,  repairing  and  making  new  ditches  half 
the  night  while  the  rain  lasted.  It  stopped  as  suddenly  as 
it  started.  The  sky  cleared  and  the  stars  came  twinkling 
out,  wonderfully  close  above  the  tops  of  the  trees.  Then  it 
turned  cold  and  everything  froze  up.  With  cold  fingers  and 
wet  wood,  it  was  no  easy  job  to  build  a  fire,  but  after  a  lot 
of  swearing  and  searching  around,  I  found  a  dead  cotton- 
wood  and  got  some  dry  pulp  from  a  hole  in  the  trunk,  and 
with  it  soon  had  a  crackling  fire.  I  put  my  canvas  so  that 
the  heat  waves  woud  play  against  it  and  rolled  up  in  my 
bedding  for  an  hour's  nap  before  it  was  time  to  cook 
breakfast. 

I  reached  Champaigne  Landing  about  nine  o'clock.  The 
village  is  on  a  low  bench  sloping  down  to  the  river.  There 
are  about  fifty  cabins,  a  large  roadhouse  with  corrals  and 
stables  and  a  trading  store.  As  I  entered  the  village,  a 
hundred  or  so  dogs  began  to  bark  and  rush  at  me  in  packs. 
I  was  quite  frightened  and  swung  my  rifle  at  the  first  that 
came  so  they  only  circled  around  me,  sniffed  at  my  scent 
and  slunk  off  to  their  respective  cabins,  where  they  lay  and 
bristled  and  growled.  Doors  opened  and  the  inmates 
crowded  around  to  look  at  me,  bucks,  squaws  and  kids  star- 
ing curiously.  Then  the  men  came  out  and  followed  me  to 
the  store.  One  by  one  they  came  and  soon  the  little  place 
was  crowded.  Then  came  questions  and  answers  galore. 
I  told  them  of  the  progress  of  the  big  war,  and  they  were 


INDIAN  FRIENDS  117 

were  very  much  interested  and  one  of  them  who  seemed  to 
be  educated,  said,  "Damn  fools,  to  be  making  war  like  that." 
I  tried  to  get  him  into  a  discussion  but  he  only  said,  "Huh," 
to  everything  I  said.  Where  was  I  going?  I  didn't  know. 
Maybe  I  would  stop  there  if  I  could  get  a  job.  Maybe  I 
would  go  to  White  Horse  or  back  to  Dalton  Post.  I  didn't 
tell  them  much.  They  seemed  to  understand  everything, 
anyway — White  man  come  from  Haines,  through  Dalton 
Post.    Looking  for  job — it  was  very  simple. 

"Shorty,"  the  man  who  owned  the  store,  came  from  the 
back  room  and  asked  me  where  I  came  from. 

"Dalton  Post,"  I  answered. 

"The  hell  you  do !  The  last  time  I  saw  you,  you  was 
going  to  White  Horse.  How  did  you  get  to  Dalton  Post 
without  coming  through  here?" 

"I  came  over  from  Carcross  by  Lake  Arkell,"  I  lied,  for 
Shorty  looked  treacherous,  not  the  kind  of  a  man  to  whom 
a  fellow  tells  the  truth.  "I  am  looking  for  a  job.  You  don't 
happen  to  need  a  good  man,  do  you?" 

"No,"  said  Shorty,  and  eyed  me  suspiciously.  I  think  he 
was  afraid  that  I  would  ask  him  for  something.  That's  the 
way  it  is  with  some  of  these  white  traders.  How  different 
the  Indians  have  been.  As  soon  as  they  learned  I  was  in 
trouble,  they  stretched  out  their  hands  in  sympathy  and 
friendship. 

"There  was  a  team  passed  through  here  to-day,"  Shorty 
informed  me.  "If  you  can  make  Stoney  Creek  to-night,  you 
might  get  a  ride  to-morrow."  This  was  probably  to  get  rid 
of  me,  so  I  said  so-long  to  the  Indians  and  started  out  along 
the  road  to  White  Horse.  I  had  nineteen  miles  to  go  and  I 
made  the  mile  posts  fly  past  me  that  afternoon,  reaching 
Stoney  Creek  by  nightfall. 

A  stony-bottomed  creek  ran  across  the  road  with  a  road- 
house  built  on  the  brink  of  it.  Two  wagons  stood  there  and 
four  bearded  men  sat  around  a  huge  campfire  in  a  grove 
of  trees  to  one  side  of  the  road.  I  took  my  pack  up  under 
a  big,  spreading  spruce  tree  and  unrolled  it.    Then  I  made 


ii8  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

a  fire  and  cooked  a  hasty  meal.  After  I  had  eaten  my  lone 
supper  I  went  over  to  the  fire  and  it  did  not  take  long  to 
get  acquainted.  Three  of  them  were  prospectors,  a  father 
and  his  two  sons.  The  other  was  a  teamster  freighting  for 
Shorty.  I  estimated  the  old  man  to  be  about  seventy  and 
the  sons  between  forty  and  fifty.  They  had  prospected 
every  summer  for  nine  years  and  had  worked  every  winter 
for  a  grub  stake.  They  were  ragged  and  had  long  whiskers, 
so  that  they  looked  like  robbers  in  a  story  book.  They  had 
just  heard  about  the  war  that  day  and  the  old  man  cursed 
the  Kaiser  and  the  Crown  Prince  roundly.  He  was  not  an 
anarchist,  he  said,  but  if  he  ever  got  the  chance,  he  would 
shoot  the  scoundrels  like  yellow  dogs.  When  I  told  them 
I  had  over  eighty  pounds  to  pack,  they  said  that  I  could  ride 
in  the  wagon  with  them  the  rest  of  the  way  to  White  Horse. 
They  were  sure  I  could  get  a  job  in  the  mine  there,  or  if  I 
couldn't,  they  knew  a  contractor  who  took  contracts  from 
the  White  Pass  Company  to  cut  wood  along  the  Yukon  for 
the  river  boats,  so  I  came  to  think  that  I  was  safe  in  going 
to  White  Horse. 

Next  morning  I  ate  breakfast  with  the  men  and  listened  to 
them  damning  the  Germans  and  the  triple  alliance.  The  pa- 
per they  had  seen  about  the  war,  the  only  one,  by  the  way, 
had  told  of  the  Russian  offensive  in  East  Prussia.  The 
Russians  were  marching  on  Berlin.  They  must  be  pretty 
nearly  there  and  the  old  man  was  sure  that  when  we  got  to 
White  Horse  the  war  would  be  over.  I  said  that  I  hoped 
this  was  so  but  that  I  knew  about  the  German  border  and  it 
was  either  swampy  or  mountainous,  so  I  didn't  think  that 
the  Russians  could  get  through  very  fast.  Then  the  old  man 
thought  that  I  was  a  German.  My  speech  was  accented, 
sure  I  was  a  German.  All  Germans  or  pro-Germans  ought 
to  be  shot  or  hanged  and  it  was  only  by  the  greatest  effort 
that  I  was  allowed  to  explain  that  I  was  a  Dane  and,  there- 
fore, as  much  against  the  Germans  as  anybody,  probably 
more  than  most  people,  because  my  home  country  was  anti- 
German,  so  I  had  been  brought  up  to  be  so.    This  was  oil 


INDIAN  FRIENDS  119 

on  the  troubled  waters,  and  the  old  man  ceased  to  glare  at 
me,  merely  remaining  disgusted  and  ignoring  me.  When 
he  learned  that  I  waS  a  foreigner,  what  little  respect  he  had 
for  me  waned  as  he  had  no  use  for  foreigners.  I  felt  de- 
jected and  out  of  place  when  the  wagon  started.  It  was 
cold,  too.  I  decided  to  warm  up  so  I  jumped  off  and  ran 
ahead  of  the  horses  that  were  trotting  along  at  a  rapid  gait. 
I  kept  this  up  for  a  couple  of  miles,  until  I  was  thoroughly 
limbered  up  and  warmed  through,  then  I  let  the  team  pass 
me,  and  placing  my  hands  on  the  edge  of  the  wagon,  I 
jumped  inside  with  more  grace  than  I  had  imagined  myself 
capable  of.  That  made  quite  an  impression  on  those  three 
prospectors,  for  most  men  like  that  admire  physical  prowess. 
Then,  after  a  while  when  the  silence  hung  too  heavy,  I  began 
to  draw  the  old  man  out  about  prospecting.  There  is  noth- 
ing an  old  timer  likes  more  than  to  be  asked  questions  and 
soon  he  was  rambling  on,  telling  all  about  it.  I  learned  a 
lot  and  at  the  same  time  became  good  friends  with  the  old 
fellow  by  merely  acting  as  if  I  took  everything  he  said  for 
the  gospel  truth.  The  sons,  too,  seemed  to  take  a  liking  to 
me,  for  Otis  laughed  uproariously  when  I  told  even  a  mild 
joke,  which  was  a  good  sign,  while  Pete,  who  was  driving, 
sat  there  and  nodded  his  head  and  smiled.  He  was  the  older 
of  the  two  and  his  hair  was  already  turning  gray  at  the  tem- 
ples. Once  in  a  while  I  caught  him  scrutinizing  me  when 
I  was  not  looking  at  him,  as  if  he  wanted  to  know  my 
secret. 

Once  when  the  other  two  were  in  the  back  of  the  wagon, 
he  said  in  an  undertone  that  if  I  ever  needed  help  some 
time,  I  could  count  on  him  for  a  friend.  He  had  seen  a 
thing  or  two  himself,  he  said.  In  ragged,  bewhiskered  Pete 
I  felt  that  I  had  a  staunch  friend.  At  noon  we  camped  by 
a  small  creek  and  here  again  it  came  about  that  I  showed 
off  before  them.  My  little  .22  automatic  was  the  last  thing 
in  accuracy  when  one  knew  its  peculiarities.  It  shot  just  a 
little  low  and  to  the  right.  I  had  been  a  sharpshooter  in  the 
army  and  when  Pete,  Otis  and  I  shot  at  a  target  on  a  tree 


I20  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

at  a  hundred  feet,  I  beat  both  of  them  badly.  Then  I 
showed  Pete,  who  was  the  better  shot  of  the  two,  just  what 
was  the  matter  with  the  gun,  and  he  hit  the  bullseye  five 
times  in  succession.  I  did  the  same  and  we  were  tied.  A 
small  hawk  came  along  and  sat  down  in  the  very  top  of  a 
tree  near  by.  I  took  hasty  aim  and  down  came  Mr.  Hawk ; 
then  Pete  said  I  was  the  best  shot  and  that  he  wanted  to 
buy  that  gun,  but  being  broke,  he  couldn't.  I  told  him  that 
I  had  only  five  dollars  but  I  would  sell  him  the  gun  if  I  got 
a  job  in  White  Horse. 

That  night  we  stopped  at  the  Takina  river  and  camped  on 
the  bank  of  it.  In  the  morning  we  hailed  the  ferryman  and 
crossed  on  a  big  ferry  that  slides  across  the  current,  hanging 
to  a  cable.  In  the  evening  they  would  reach  White  Horse 
but  I  didn't  want  to  go  that  far,  so  got  off  where  the  road 
branches  to  go  to  Pueblo  Mines.  I  said  good-by  to  my 
fellow  travelers  and  with  my  pack  on  my  back  once  again, 
set  out  to  cover  the  two  or  three  miles  to  the  mine. 

A  young  fellow  came  along  the  road  just  as  I  reached 
the  buildings.  He  looked  as  though  he  might  be  a  time 
keeper  or  something  like  that. 

"Where  is  the  office?"  I  asked  him,  for  though  I  knew 
where  the  office  was,  I  thought  I  might  as  well  find  out 
something  before  I  went  in. 

"Are  you  looking  for  a  job?"  he  asked. 
1  am. 

"Well,  you're  out  of  luck,"  he  shook  his  head.  "The 
mine  closed  down  yesterday  and  most  of  the  men  are  gone, 
only  a  few  left  to  straighten  things  up." 

Well,  I'm  kind  of  used  to  such  things  now  but  I  had 
hoped  to  get  a  job  in  that  mine.  I  decided  that  maybe  I 
ought  to  go  to  Dawson  and  stay  there,  woodpile  or  no  wood- 
pile, jail  or  no  jail.  I  set  my  course  toward  White  Horse 
and  reached  there  late  in  the  evening. 

Outside  of  the  town  Shorty  Chambers  has  a  bam  and 
here  the  three  prospectors  were  staying,  camping  in  the 
hay  loft.    When  I  passed  they  asked  me  to  come  in  and 


INDIAN  FRIENDS  121 

stay  with  them,  so  I  did.  Last  night  a  wood  contractor  said 
he  could  give  me  a  job  for  all  winter  with  a  chance  to  make 
a  grub  stake. 

I  am  dead  tired.  I  came  here  to  the  free  reading  room 
early  this  morning,  and  except  for  a  few  minutes  I  spent 
buying  a  loaf  of  bread  and  some  cheese  and  eating  them,  I 
have  been  writing  all  day.  It  is  now  almost  twelve  o'clock. 
The  caretaker  came  in  a  long  time  ago  and  told  me  he'd  have 
to  close  up  but  I  said  I  was  writing  home  and  asked  him  to 
let  me  stay  till  I  had  finished.  He  said  it  looked  as  if  I 
were  writing  a  book,  but  he  let  me  stay.  I  wanted  to  get 
it  done,  for  I  don't  know  what  to-morrow  may  bring.  Oh, 
Marian,  I  can't  help  thinking  of  you  and  loving  you. 

Svend. 


CHAPTER  XII 

IN  JAIL  AGAIN  AND  OUT 

White  Horse, 
Sept.  20,  1 91 4. 

MY  dear  friend  Marian: 
Well,  Marian,  I  have  at  last  come  out  from  my 
prospecting  trip.  I  reached  here. day  before  yes- 
terday after  a  hard  trip  out.  You  were  right  in  your 
expectations,  I  didn't  find  the  gold  and  am  broke,  and 
worse  than  that,  I  am  in  jail.  But  don't  worry,  dear,  they 
will  let  me  out  as  soon  as  they  see  they  have  made  a  mis- 
take. It  seems  there  is  some  sort  of  a  desperado  around 
here  by  the  name  of  Svend  Norman  who  has  done  some- 
thing or  other  and  is  wanted  by  the  U.  S.  authorities.  He 
evidently  looks  a  lot  like  me,  for  they  say  I  answer  the  de- 
scription to  a  T  all  the  way  around,  so  there  is  nothing  for 
me  to  do  but  to  stay  here  till  the  man  comes  from  Skag- 
way  to  identify  me  and  then,  of  course,  they  will  let  me  go. 
I  have  already  secured  a  job  with  a  wood  cutting  outfit 
down  the  Yukon  river,  so  I  can  go  to  work  as  soon  as  this 
farce  is  over. 

I  was  standing  down  by  Shorty  Chambers'  barn  when  a 
constable  came  edging  up  to  me  and  two  others  came  from 
behind  the  barn  and  arrested  me. 

I  demanded  to  know  what  I  was  charged  with  and  they 
said  the  sergeant  would  tell  me  soon  enough,  and  of  course, 
as  there  were  three  of  them  and  they  were  policemen,  I  had 
to  come  along. 

Once  here  they  took  me  to  an  office  and  an  official  in  civil- 
ian clothes  asked  all  sorts  of  foolish  questions.     "What's 

122 


IN  JAIL  AGAIN  AND  OUT  123 

your  name?  What's  your  father's  name?  What's  your 
grandfather's  name?"  And  so  on  until  I  got  so  mad  that  I 
threatened  to  whale  the  devil  out  of  him,  the  nervy  cuss. 
Me,  an  American  citizen  to  be  treated  like  this ! 

What  do  you  think  these  idiots  have  me  charged  with? 
Suspicion  of  having  violated  the  immigration  laws  without 
reporting  to  the  authorities.  The  danged  fools  know  well 
enough  that  there  are  no  authorities  where  I  crossed  the 
border  at  Pleasant  Camp  five  months  ago  and  it's  pure 
meanness  on  their  part,  just  because  I  am  a  free  American. 

But  I'll  be  out  in  a  few  days  and  then  I'll  tell  you  what 
I  think  of  them.    I'll  write  again  when  I  get  out. 

I  am  your  friend  truly, 

Bill  Roberts. 

P.  S. — My  address  is  General  Delivery,  White  Horse, 
Yukon  Territory,  and  I'll  have  it  forwarded  wherever  I  go. 
With  much  love,  Bill, 


White  Horse, 
Sept.  25, 1914. 
Dear  friend  Marian: — 

Well,  girl,  the  game  is  up.  It's  no  use  pretending  any 
longer.  They  know  who  I  am,  all  right,  and  the  U.  S.  mar- 
shal is  coming  up  to-night  to  identify  me  and  take  me  away 
with  him  in  the  morning.  I  am  in  a  cell  four  feet  by  six  and 
have  chains  on  my  legs  to  keep  me  from  causing  any  more 
trouble.  They  wouldn't  give  me  this  paper  to  write  on  till 
I  kicked  the  door  and  made  so  much  noise  that  the  captain 
came  and  said  to  let  me  have  all  the  paper  I  wanted,  and  so 
I  am  writing. 

I  got  so  darned  angry  the  first  day  they  had  me  here  that 
I  just  tore  loose  and  made  as  much  racket  as  I  could.  A 
constable  came  running  and  after  him  a  sergeant.  The  ser- 
geant was  in  a  rage. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  this,  you  dirty—- — " 

I  demanded  to  see  the  captain  and  after  a  lot  of  talk  he 
left. 


124  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

When  he  got  outside  I  heard  him  say,  "My  God !  but  these 
Americans  are  a  lot  of  trouble,"  and  I  knew  I  had  him 
bluffed.  I  lay  down  to  rest  on  the  narrow  cot  and  planned 
what  I'd  say. 

The  captain  came  about  an  hour  later  and  I  was  let  out 
to  talk  to  him.  I  protested  firmly  that  I  didn't  wish  to  be 
in  jail,  that  I  had  done  no  wrong  and  that  they  had  no  right 
to  keep  me  there.  I  was  firm  but  more  polite  than  I  had 
been  to  the  others.  I  could  see  that  it  made  an  impression 
and  he  came  pretty  near  letting  me  out.  On  second  thought, 
however,  he  said  that  he  would  telegraph  to  Skagway,  and 
if  I  was  not  the  man  the  U.  S.  marshal  there  wanted,  of 
course  they  would  let  me  go.  He  gave  the  constable  orders 
to  give  me  all  the  food  I  wanted  and  to  be  decent  to  me. 
I  was  placed  in  another  cell  where  there  were  six  cells  facing 
out  on  a  large  room  where  I  could  walk  about.  You  can 
see  that  my  game  of  bluff  was  up,  so  that  afternoon  I 
planned  my  breakaway. 

Supper  time  came  and  two  other  prisoners  set  the  table 
out  in  the  guard  room.  There  were  five  constables  out  there 
standing  around  a  heater,  joking  and  laughing.  Then  my 
door  was  opened  and  I  stepped  out,  my  guard  stepped  back 
a  bit  and  there  was  a  moment  or  two  of  tension  with  every- 
one watching  me.  Then  I  turned  to  the  table  and  with  a 
sigh  of  relief  the  constables  around  the  stove  continued  their 
talk.  The  door  to  the  outside  opened — some  one  was  coming 
in.  This  was  my  chance.  I  put  one  foot  against  the  bench 
by  the  table  and  whirled  around  with  a  leap.  I  took  one 
constable  with  my  shoulder,  sending  him  flying  into  another 
one,  and  both  of  them  sprawled  on  the  floor.  Then  over 
the  stove  I  flew.  Some  one  got  me  by  the  neck  of  the  shirt 
and  pulled  the  whole  back  of  it  off.  There  was  one  of  them 
in  the  doorway  and  I  kicked  him  head  over  heels  outside; 
one  was  hanging  onto  me  and  I  dragged  him  outside  with 
me,  where  he  let  go.  I  was  free  and  out  in  the  cold  evening. 
I  went  like  a  streak  around  the  comer  and  up  the  street  to- 
ward the  woods.    I  heard  five  or  six  shots  and  jumped  side- 


IN  JAIL  AGAIN  AND  OUT  125 

ways  and  zigzagged  along  to  keep  them  from  getting  a  good 
aim. 

There  was  an  old  Indian  cabin  in  this  part  of  the  woods 
and  I  knew  there  were  a  lot  of  old  clothes  there,  so  I  made 
my  way  to  it.  I  found  a  fur  cap  and  a  coat  that  fitted  me, 
then  I  made  for  the  road  toward  Champaigne  Landing,  I 
sneaked  through  the  woods  towards  Shorty  Chambers'  bam, 
thinking  to  get  my  pack.  But  as  I  was  lying  in  the  brush 
at  the  edge  of  the  woods,  I  saw  two  constables  carrying  my 
stuff  out  of  the  barn  and  away  toward  town.  Well,  I 
thought,  I  could  get  some  grub  from  the  Indians  at  Cham- 
paigne. That  was  only  sixty-five  miles,  so  I  could  get  there 
all  right  without  anything  to  eat. 

It  was  pitch  dark  and  I  started  out  along  the  road  at  a 
run.  I  wasn't  packing  an)rthing  now  and  I  felt  as  light  as 
a  feather.  I  ran  at  a  loping  trot  with  as  long  strides  as  I 
could  take,  walking  only  now  and  then  to  catch  up  with  my 
wind.  Before  very  long  it  seemed,  I  was  at  Takina  twenty 
miles  out  and  was  hardly  a  bit  tired.  I  got  the  ferry  loose 
and  let  her  drift  over  to  the  other  side  with  me.  There  I 
turned  her  wheel  to  go  back  and  then  jumped  off  and  let  her 
drift  back  alone.  Then  I  was  off  again.  The  road  was 
frozen  hard  and  easy  to  run  on,  so  I  made  splendid  time.  I 
ran  and  walked,  ran  and  walked  all  night  long,  constantly 
thinking  and  planning  what  I  would  do.  I  decided  not  to 
go  to  Dalton  Post  but  to  go  through  Champaigne  to  Yukon 
Crossing  and  there  try  to  stow  away  on  a  river  boat  to 
Dawson.  Or  perhaps  I  could  get  a  job  in  some  wood  camp 
along  the  way. 

At  daybreak  I  passed  the  forty  mile  post  and  there  a  trail 
led  off  at  right  angles  to  the  road.  I  thought  that  it  was  a 
short  cut,  so  I  took  it. 

At  a  small  creek  that  ran  across  the  trail  in  a  canyon  I 
came  upon  an  Indian  camped  with  his  squaw  and  his  two 
small  kids.  I  stopped,  for  my  feet  were  getting  sore  and  I 
wanted  to  bathe  them  in  the  creek,  and  I  was  also  hungry 
enough  to  even  bum  an  Indian  for  a  dried  fish  or  some- 


126  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

thing.  He  was  a  low  browed,  evil  looking  savage  and  eyed 
me  with  great  suspicion  as  I  squatted  by  the  creek  and  took 
my  shoe  packs  off.  No  doubt,  it  was  very  strange  to  see  a 
white  man  dressed  as  I  was  in  a  tattered,  moldy,  old  coat  and 
a  woman's  fur  cap,  for  such  it  was,  though  I  hadn't  noticed 
it  before  daybreak,  running  along  forty-five  miles  from  town 
without  blankets  and  without  grub  at  that  time  of  year.  I 
wondered  if  he  thought  I  was  crazy  and  then  a  lucky  idea 
struck  me,  I  would  act  crazy  and  then  he  would  be  afraid 
to  do  me  harm  and  would  probably  feed  me,  too. 

After  I  had  washed  my  feet  in  the  ice  rimmed  creek  and 
had  drunk  all  the  water  I  cared  for,  I  stood  up,  and  throw- 
ing my  arms  out  as  if  to  embrace  the  whole  world,  I  sang  a 
mighty  song  in  Danish  about  the  national  hero,  Holger 
Danske.  I  sang  so  loud  that  the  echo  of  it  rolled  from  one 
side  of  the  canyon  to  the  other.  The  Indians  watched  me 
with  great  awe  and  when  I  turned  to  the  buck  and  gravely 
asked  him  for  something  to  eat,  he  called  to  his  squaw  and 
soon  after  she  brought  me  a  lump  of  baked  dough  and  two 
strips  of  dried  white  fish.  I  thanked  him  and  bowed  deeply 
to  the  squaw  and  then  asked  the  Indian  where  the  trail  led 
to.  He  said  that  it  led  to  Yukon  Crossing  and  I  was  very 
glad.  I  asked  him  how  far  it  was  to  the  next  house  and  he 
informed  me  in  a  dialect  that  I  cannot  reproduce  that  twenty 
miles  down  the  trail  lived  an  old  white  man,  so  I  thanked 
him  again  and  hurried  on. 

The  trail  was  good  but  in  the  forenoon  I  began  to  feel  a 
little  weak.  My  legs  were  beginning  to  get  sore  in  the  mus- 
cles and  I  had  a  queer,  weak  feeling  in  the  small  of  my 
back.  I  was  getting  very,  very  tired.  Sixty-five  miles  is  a 
long  way  to  go  in  one  stretch.  My  mind  was  awfully  dull 
that  morning  and  I  can't  remember  what  I  was  thinking 
about  as  I  sttunbled  along  over  that  trail  through  the  heavy 
forest  of  brush  and  jack  pines. 

Some  time  in  the  day  I  came  to  a  small  clearing  with  a 
cabin  and  there  stood  an  old  man,  chopping  wood. 

"Hello,"  I  said  weakly  as  I  came  up  to  him. 


IN  JAIL  AGAIN  AND  OUT  127 

"Howdy,  howdy,"  he  cried,  and  looked  at  me  with  sur- 
prise showing  in  his  kind,  gray  eyes.  "Come  on  inside 
where  it's  warm.  Why,  man,  you're  as  white  as  a  sheet! 
Are  you  sick  ?" 

"No,"  I  told  him,  "but  I  am  dead  tired."  I  walked  into 
the  cabin  and  sat  down  on  the  bed  near  the  fire.  "I  left 
White  Horse  last  night  after  dark." 

"By  jove !"  he  exclaimed,  "you  look  it."  And  then  I  told 
him  the  whole  miserable  story  as  briefly  as  I  could. 

"By  jove,"  he  said  again,  "you're  entitled  to  get  away 
after  that.  I'll  tell  you  what  to  do.  You  keep  right  on  this 
trail  and  about  twenty  miles  from  here  is  another  cabin 
where  an  old  friend  of  mine  lives  and  traps.  He  will  show 
you  the  trail  to  a  large  wood  camp  where  you  can  get  a  job 
and  they'll  never  find  you.  Them  redcoats  are  hell  on 'the 
trail,  though,  and  they're  liable  to  be  right  behind  you.  I'll 
tell  them  that  you  took  my  trap  line  to  Champaigne  Landing, 
and  when  they  don't  find  you  there,  they'll  think  you  got  lost 
and  died  and'll  quit  looking  for  you."  He  was  stepping 
around  all  the  time,  getting  a  big  pot  of  beans  warmed  up 
and  coffee  made  for  me,  and  in  a  little  while  I  was  sitting 
down  to  a  great,  big  feed. 

I  ate  till  I  felt  drowsy.  The  old  man  said  that  I  could 
sleep  a  couple  of  hours,  then  he'd  call  me  and  I  could  make 
the  rest  of  the  twenty  miles  to  the  next  cabin.  "You  can 
rest  there,"  he  said,  "for  I'll  send  them  the  other  way  when 
they  come." 

I  had  no  sooner  closed  my  eyes,  it  seemed,  than  he  was 
shaking  me  and  telling  me  that  I  had  better  move  along,  as 
the  redcoats  were  liable  to  be  coming  at  any  time.  I  was 
so  sleepy  that  I  wouldn't  have  cared  if  they  had  come,  but 
he  kept  shaking  me  till  I  came  to  and  realized  my  situation. 
He  had  a  big  lunch  made  up  for  me  and  a  pair  of  blankets 
rolled  in  a  pack  strap,  and  after  a  plate  of  hot  beans  and 
all  the  coffee  I  could  drink,  I  was  on  the  trail  again  with  a 
"Good  luck,  boy,"  ringing  in  my  ears. 

Though  my  feet  were  sore  and  my  legs  ached  with  every 


128  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

step,  I  was  thankful  that  I  was  free,  had  food  and  was  get- 
ting away. 

It  g^ew  dark;  my  legs  seemed  to  bump  against  every  ob- 
stacle along  the  way  and  my  ankles  felt  as  if  they  had  been 
worn  to  the  bone.  I  tried  to  think  it  was  funny  and  laughed 
aloud,  but  my  laugh  sounded  crazy.  If  there  had  been  any 
one  behind  me  they  would  have  thought  I  was  a  maniac  and  I 
wouldn't  wonder  if  I  was  a  bit  crazy.  No  one  but  a  crazy 
man  would  run  like  that  through  the  dark  wastes  laughing 
at  himself.  I  wondered  if  I  would  ever  get  away  from  the 
thing  that  reached  out  and  grasped  me  when  I  thought  I  was 
perfectly  safe.  I  thought  of  the  warm  guard  room  and  it 
didn't  seem  so  bad  at  that.  There  I  would  at  least  have  a 
chance  to  rest. 

It  was  lucky  for  me  that  the  moon  rose  and  blinked  at  me 
from  over  a  distant  mountain,  for  if  it  hadn't,  I  should  have 
missed  the  trapper's  cabin.  It  was  standing  back  from  the 
trail  almost  hidden  by  brush  and  I  would  not  have  seen  it 
if  the  moon  hadn't  been  reflected  in  the  window  pane.  I 
stumbled  over  to  it  and  knocked  on  the  door.  No  one  an- 
swered, so  I  raised  the  latch  and  went  in.  I  struck  a  match 
and  saw  that  there  was  no  one  there.  A  cook  stove  stood 
in  the  comer  and  a  heater  in  the  center  of  the  little  cabin. 
I  made  a  fire  in  the  heater  and  then  lay  down  on  the  floor 
with  my  roll  of  blankets  under  my  head,  for  I  was  too  tired 
and  sleepy  to  unroll  them. 

I  must  have  slept  a  long  time  before  I  was  wakened  by 
the  cold.  The  fire  was  out  and  it  was  bright  daylight.  I  was 
so  stiff  and  sore  that  I  lumbered  around  like  a  lame  horse, 
building  a  fire  in  the  cook  stove  and  making  myself  a  cup  of 
coffee  to  get  warmed  up  inside.  After  drinking  that  and 
eating  the  rest  of  my  old  friend's  lunch,  I  lay  down  on  the 
floor  and  slept  again. 


Some  one  shook  me  by  the  shoulder  and  I  looked  right 
into  the  muzzle  of  a  big,  automatic  pistol.  Behind  it  there 
was  a  red  coated  policeman,  the  one  who  had  arrested  me 


^  IN  JAIL  AGAIN  AND  OUT  129 

down  by  Shorty  Chambers'  barn.  I  looked  at  him  and  felt 
more  helpless  than  I  ever  had  before  in  my  life.  I  wasn't 
afraid  of  the  gun,  I  hardly  noticed  it,  but  the  presence  of  the 
big  man  in  the  red  coat  overwhelmed  me  with  a  sense  of 
weakness.  He  was  the  power  of  society  and  in  the  right, 
and  I  was  an  outlaw  and  in  the  wrong.  I  had  no  chance. 
He  told  me  to  put  out  my  hands,  and  when  I  did,  he  put  a 
pair  of  handcuffs  on  them. 

Then  he  smiled  to  me.  "By  Golly,  lad,  you're  a  game  one 
and  I  hate  like  hell  to  take  you,  but  I  got  to  do  my  duty." 

I  grinned  a  sickly  grin  back  to  him.  What  was  there  to 
do?  After  all  my  running  away  and  suffering,  I  was  where 
I  had  started,  caught!    It  seemed  impossible. 

"How  did  you  find  my  trail  ?"  I  asked. 

"The  old  Indian  I  met  on  the  way  told  me  you  had  asked 
him  where  the  trail  led  to.  Then  old  Bob,  by  the  cross  trails, 
told  me  you  had  gone  to  Champaigne  and  intended  to  go  to 
Dalton  Post,  and  of  course  I  knew  old  Bob  is  the  best  kind 
of  a  fellow  and  wouldn't  tell  the  truth,  so  I  came  this  way 
as  fast  as  I  could.  I  knew  you  bloody  well  couldn't  keep 
up  the  pace  you  had  gone,  and,  since  I  had  my  horses,  I'd  get 
you  sooner  or  later." 

Outside  the  cabin  were  two  horses,  a  saddle  and  a  pack 
horse.  The  constable  tied  part  of  the  load  from  the  pack 
horse  behind  his  saddle.  "This  is  against  rules,"  he  said, 
"but  you  have  walked  far  enough  and  we  can  get  back  faster 
this  way.  There  are  only  thirty-five  miles  to  Champaigne 
and  you'll  get  a  buggy  ride  from  there  to  White  Horse." 

Thus  we  traveled  along  the  trail  all  during  the  moonlit 
night.  At  the  old  timer's  cabin  we  stopped,  and  after  rous- 
ing him,  had  a  cup  of  coffee.  I  gave  him  back  his  blankets 
and  he  was  very  sorry  that  I  had  been  caught  and  said  so 
quite  openly  before  the  constable. 

On  the  way  into  Champaigne  Landing  we  passed  two  In- 
dians, big  Jim  and  his  son,  Casey.  As  soon  as  they  recog- 
nized me  I  made  a  motion  with  my  hand  for  silence  and  then 
made  as  if  to  break  my  chains  and  pointed  along  the  road  to 


130  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

Dalton  Post  and  they  nodded  that  they  understood.  The 
constable's  back  was  toward  us,  so  he  didn't  see  the  panto- 
mime, didn't  even  notice  that  the  Indians  recognized  me. 

We  stopped  at  a  roadhouse  and  I  was  put  in  a  room  on 
the  top  floor.  Here  my  guard  took  off  the  handcuffs  and 
also  took  away  my  pants,  my  coat  and  my  shoe  packs  and 
put  a  pair  of  cuffs  on  my  ankles  with  a  chain  between  them 
that  was  long  enough  to  let  me  walk  with  small  steps.  He 
then  brought  food  to  me  and  slept  on  the  couch  opposite  my 
bed. 

I  slept  soundly  all  day  long,  and  when  I  woke,  the  con- 
stable was  gone.  I  got  out  of  bed  as  quietly  as  I  could  and 
sat  down  before  the  window.  It  faced  to  the  front  of  the 
house.  Less  than  a  hundred  yards  away  there  was  a  thicket 
of  brush  and  further  on  were  the  woods,  stretching  away 
toward  Dalton  Post.  If  I  could  only  get  away  out  there  in 
the  woods !  Before  long  my  two  Indian  friends  came  past, 
walking  slowly,  scrutinizing  the  house.  I  raised  the  win- 
dow and  they  saw  me  and  signed  for  me  to  wait  till  dark. 

The  constable  brought  me  my  supper  and  left  me  alone 
again.  It  grew  darker  and  darker.  I  heard  a  slight  scrap- 
ing against  the  outside  of  the  wall  and  raised  the  window. 
A  long  ladder  was  extended  to  the  sill  and  I  could  see  two 
dark  shapes  down  below  me.  I  made  a  little  noise  with 
the  darned  chain  as  I  slid  out  of  the  window,  head  first,  but 
nobody  in  the  house  seemed  to  hear  that.  Thanks  to  the 
gymnasium  at  Fort  Seward  where  I  had  spent  many  a  win- 
ter day,  I  was  able  to  get  down  the  ladder  without  making 
any  noise  or  using  my  feet.  But  on  the  hard  ground,  it  was 
a  different  story.  My  blooming  chain  rattled  and  clanked 
along  the  frozen  pebbly  road.  The  Indians  whispered  for 
me  to  be  still  and  hurry  and  I  placed  my  arms  across  their 
shoulders,  hopping  along  six  feet  at  a  step.  But  the  chain 
made  too  much  noise  and  we  had  to  stop.  Casey  ran  down 
into  the  village  to  get  some  clothes  for  me  and  something  to 
wrap  around  the  chain,  while  big  Jim  and  I  made  for  the 
nearby  thicket  as  quickly  and  silently  as  we  could. 


IN  JAIL  AGAIN  AND  OUT  131 

But  it  was  not  for  me  to  get  away  that  night.  The  con- 
stable had  heard  the  telltale  clanking  of  the  chain,  had 
rushed  to  the  room,  and  now  came  bounding  through  the 
dark  toward  big  Jim  and  me  just  as  Casey  reappeared  with 
the  things.  The  Sticks  dove  into  the  brush  and  I  surren- 
dered. 

The  big  redcoat  chuckled.  "I  be  hanged  if  you  aren't  all 
right.  How  the  hell  did  you  do  it?  How  did  you  get  word 
to  those  bloody  savages?  Who  are  you,  anyway,  that  they 
help  you  like  that?  I  never  heard  of  the  Siwashes  helping  a 
white  man." 

"Oh,"  I  answered,  "these  Indians  just  happen  to  be 
friends  of  mine.    I  know  a  lot  of  Indians  in  these  parts." 

"I  don't  blame  you  for  trying  to  get  away,"  he  said,  "but 
I  can't  afford  to  let  you  go.  I've  got  a  little  girl  back  in 
White  Horse,  and  if  I  get  my  corporal  stripes  for  this,  we'll 
get  married,  don't  you  know,"  and  he  blushed. 

I  wished  him  luck  and  told  him  about  my  own  girl  and 
told  him  how  I  had  come  up  north  to  make  a  home  for  her 
and  how  circumstances  had  driven  me  lower  and  lower  till 
I  made  this  last  fatal  mistake.  The  man  in  him  was  very 
sympathetic  toward  me  and  prompted  him  to  let  me  go,  but 
his  red  coat,  his  honor,  duty  and  ambition,  were  the  domi- 
nating influences  in  his  life  and  I  didn't  blame  him. 

"Had  I  known  how  things  were  with  you,  lad,"  he  spoke 
with  feeling,  "I'd  never  have  caught  up  with  you,  but  maybe 
it's  the  best  thing,  after  all.  Things  have  a  way  of  turning 
out  for  the  best.  Take  it  from  me,  the  best  way  out  of  a 
mess  is  generally  the  easiest  way  and  I  think  you  are  taking 
the  hardest." 

He  was  American  born,  this  constable,  but  had  been 
raised  in  Canada.  Strangely  enough,  he  looked  a  whole  lot 
like  me,  except  that  he  had  black  hair.  We  became  good 
friends  that  evening  as  we  sat  there  in  the  room  swapping 
yarns. 

After  an  early  breakfast,  we  started  for  White  Horse  in 
a  buckboard,  reaching  there  the  next  noon. 


132  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

Once  more  I  was  searched,  questioned  and  put  in  a  cell, 
this  time  with  irons  on  my  legs.  The  marshal  from  Skag- 
way  will  be  here  before  long  now  and  to-morrow  morning 
we  shall,  in  all  probability,  go  on  the  train  to  Skagway  and 
I  shall  have  almost  completed  my  second  round  trip,  as  my 
friend  in  Pleasant  Camp  called  it. 

I  am  very  tired  now,  Marian.  I  am  afraid  I  have  run 
my  last  run  for  a  while.  They'll  not  give  me  another  chance 
to  break  away  and  I  suppose  I  am  doomed  for  the  pen. 

But  Marian,  I  like  to  write  to  you  and  you  will  let  me 
write  as  long  as  I  can,  won't  you?  I'd  not  write  love  let- 
ters, merely  of  the  things  I  saw. 

I  am  your  friend, 
Syend. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

ONE  MORE  ATTEMPT  AT  FREEDOM 

Skagway,  Alaska. 
Sept.  29,  19 14. 

DEAR  friend  Marian: 
At  White  Horse  they  put  me  on  bread  and  water 
for  five  days.    I  protested  to  the  Captain  and  asked 
him  to  have  me  fed  properly,  but  he  shook  his  head  im- 
patiently. 

"Lx)ok  here,  Norman " 

"Roberts,"  I  insisted,  for  I  was  still  stoutly  maintaining 
that  my  name  was  Bill  Roberts. 

"It's  the  rules  that  you  stay  where  you  are  for  five  days 
on  water  and  bread.  We  cannot  change  that.  We  tried  to 
be  decent  to  you,  but  you  have  shown  that  as  soon  as  you 
have  your  belly  full  of  food  and  feel  strong,  you  try  to 
break  the  whole  building  down.  You  can  see  that  you  have 
brought  these  hardships  on  yourself,  but  I  can  do  one  thing 
for  you.  This  incident  of  your  getting  away — I'll  not  say 
anything  about  it.  It's  a  damned  disgrace  to  the  whole 
force  and  we  are  not  anxious  to  advertise  it.  The  marshal 
is  coming  up  to-morrow  to  identify  you  and  if,  by  some 
strange  chance  you  are  not  the  man  we  want,  I'll  see  to  it 
that  you  get  paid  for  the  trouble  we  have  caused  you  and 
I'll  try  to  help  you  get  a  decent  job  if  you  want  it." 

That  was  all  very  well,  but  I  knew  the  marshal  would 
identify  me  all  right  and  I  begged  the  captain  at  least  to 
let  me  out  in  the  fresh  air,  but  he  was  impassive  and  left 
me  still  arguing  and  pleading. 

I  slept,  or  tried  to  sleep,  the  rest  of  the  day;  ate  my 

133 


134  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

bread  in  the  evening  and  waited,  waited,  waited,  through 
the  long,  long  night  for  morning  to  come. 

Morning  came  at  last  and  I  was  ravenously  hungry.  My 
God  I  It  was  not  so  bad  to  be  starving  out  in  the  moun- 
tains when  I  was  going  somewhere,  but  there  with  nothing 
to  do  but  look  at  the  other  prisoners  eating  out  in  the  guard 
room,  it  was  agonizing!  But  I  didn't  yell — I  had  learned 
my  lesson. 

That  evening,  after  a  long  day,  when  the  marshal  finally 
came,  there  was  no  more  resistance  left  in  me.  I  was  too 
weak  and  hungry  to  think  of  fighting.  They  opened  the 
door  and  let  me  into  the  guard  room.  There  he  was,  the 
man  who  had  first  captured  me,  smiling  to  me  in  a  friendly 
fashion. 

"Hello,  Svend,"  he  said  and  held  out  his  hand  to  me.  I 
took  it,  for  I  wanted  to  make  the  impression  that  I  had 
given  up  the  struggle.  "Well,  Svend,"  he  laughed,  "you  gave 
us  a  big  chase,  all  right,  and  caused  us  a  lot  of  expense, 
but  they  are  not  going  to  press  the  charge  of  jail  breaking 
against  you.  The  jailer  is  fired  and  I  have  to  go  the  first 
of  March,  all  on  account  of  you.  Don't  think  that  I  have 
any  hard  feelings,  though,  for  I  haven't.  I  would  have 
done  the  same  thing  myself  if  I  had  been  in  your  place, 
only  I  don't  think  I  could  have  accomplished  what  you  did. 
No  other  man  has  ever  gone  across  those  mountains  you 
crossed.  You  have  won  a  reputation  around  here  and  you'll 
have  no  trouble  getting  a  job  when  you  get  out,  after  a  few 
months  in  jail.  They'll  give  you  about  three  months,  I  should 
judge." 

This,  of  course,  was  only  flattery  to  make  me  feel  good 
and  come  along  without  making  trouble. 

"Say,  marshal,"  I  said,  "I  haven't  had  anything  to  eat 
for  God  knows  how  long.  They've  put  me  on  bread  and 
water  for  trying  to  get  out.  Can't  you  send  and  get  me 
something  to  eat?" 

"Sure,  I  can,"  he  said.  "I'll  see  to  that  right  away.  We 
leave  on  the  train  early  in  the  morning." 


ONE  MORE  ATTEMPT  AT  FREEDOM  135 

They  brought  me  a  large  plate  of  pork  and  beans  from  a 
restaurant  and  I  had  all  I  could  eat  in  my  cell. 

How  quickly  a  body  picks  up  ambition,  once  it  has  fuel ! 
No  sooner  had  I  eaten  than  I  decided  to  protest  against 
extradition. 

I  asked  for  an  audience  and  they  led  me  to  the  captain's 
office,  which  was  a  few  buildings  away  from  the  guard 
house.  I  still  had  chains  on  my  legs  and  could  only  walk 
very  slowly,  so  there  was  no  chance  of  my  breaking  away. 

The  captain  was  sitting  at  his  desk.  "Sir,"  I  said,  "I 
protest  against  being  extradited.  You  have  no  right  to 
deport  me.  I  have  committed  no  crime  in  Canada  and  be- 
sides, I  have  a  miner's  license  in  British  Columbia  and  have 
mining  property  there.    I  have  a  right  to  be  here!'* 

"Where  is  your  license  ?"  he  asked  quietly. 

"In  Skagway." 

"Well,  how  do  I  know  you  have  a  license  ?  You  told  me  a 
lie  about  your  name.  How  can  you  expect  me  to  believe  you 
about  this  ?  What  have  you  to  prove  it  by  ?" 

"I  have  nothing,"  I  said,  "but  you  have  no  right  to  deport 
me.  Canada  and  the  United  States  have  no  reciprocal  ex- 
tradition laws." 

"Oh,  that's  the  trouble.  You  needn't  worry  about  that. 
We  are  not  deporting  you.  We  are  only  sending  you  to 
the  line  to  be  examined  by  the  immigration  officer." 

Well,  I  will  say  that  it  was  pretty  clever.  Put  me  on  the 
train  and  take  me  to  the  line  to  see  the  immigration  officer 
with  the  marshal  by  my  side  and  irons  on  my  hands  and 
feet.    Oh  no,  no  deportation  at  all ! 

They  took  me  back  to  my  cell,  where  I  walked  up  and 
down  all  night  long,  planning  an  escape  from  the  train. 
In  the  morning  two  guards  took  me  down  to  the  station 
and  aboard  the  train. 

I  had  hoped  they  would  take  my  handcuffs  off  when  the 
train  started,  but  they  left  them  on,  and  to  make  my  escape 
more  impossible,  the  U.  S.  marshal  came  and  sat  in  the 


136  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

remaining  empty  seat  in  the  section  of  four  seats.  That 
made  one  guard  by  my  side  and  two  facing  me. 

The  marshal  left  us  to  go  to  the  smoking  car  and  I 
turned  to  the  constable  and  said  earnestly,  "Look  here, 
Jack,  you  don't  want  to  see  me  go  to  the  pen  and  I  don't 
want  to  go.  You  can  do  something  for  me  if  you  wish 
to.  I'll  promise  not  to  try  to  get  away  from  you  till  after 
we  have  crossed  the  line.  I  know  that  you  have  fixed  it 
so  this  train  will  not  stop  at  White  Pass  till  it  has  crossed 
the  border.  Then  the  marshal  will  be  on  hand  to  grab 
me»  Now,  if  you'll  take  off  these  handcuffs,  it  will  give  me 
a  chance.  As  soon  as  we  have  crossed  the  boundary  line, 
I'll  not  be  afraid  of  you  fellows  any  longer  and  the  marshal 
is  the  only  one.  You  know  I  can  make  it  deuced  uncom- 
fortable right  here  and  now  among  all  these  people  if  I  make 
trouble.    Say,  give  a  fellow  a  chance." 

The  constable  consulted  with  his  partner,  who  until  this 
hadn't  said  a  word.  "Sure,"  the  other  fellow  said,  "if  he 
won't  try  to  get  away,  I  wouldn't  keep  the  bloody  things 
on  him.  And  sure  he  cawn't  get  away  from  the  two  of  us, 
anyway." 

So  the  senior  constable  took  the  handcuffs  off  and  prom- 
ised, on  my  asking  it,  not  to  tell  the  marshal  anything  of 
what  I  had  said.  At  noon  the  train  stopped  at  Bennett 
and  I  went  with  my  guards  to  the  dining  hall  in  the  station 
to  eat  dinner  without  handcuffs,  to  the  marshal's  great 
surprise. 

In  the  train  again  I  began  to  think  of  what  might  have 
been.  Had  I  been  a  good,  steady  worker  this  past  summer, 
I  might  now  have  been  on  my  way  south  to  claim  my  girl, 
or  I  might  have  been  building  my  home  somewhere,  per- 
haps by  the  little  lake  on  the  peninsula.  And  here  I  was 
on  my  way  to  jail  to  be  tried  for  a  felony.  Yet,  v/ho  knows 
if  this  thing  were  not  necessary  for  my  development,  I 
thought,  and  I  was  not  so  bad  off  after  all.  I  was  at  least 
respected  by  my  guards.  That  was  one  consolation.  Then 
my  thoughts  drifted  back  to  more  practical  channels  and 


ONE  MORE  ATTEMPT  AT  FREEDOM  137 

again  I  figured  on  my  getaway.  I  looked  the  window  over 
carefully.  If  it  were  pulled  up  half  way,  that  would  give 
me  barely  room  to  slide  out.  There  was  nothing  that  could 
catch  my  clothes  and  I  would  slip  through  like  an  eel  as 
soon  as  the  train  crossed  the  border.  I  couldn't  help  smiling 
when  I  thought  how  I  was  going  to  fool  the  marshal  again. 
The  constables  had  been  watching  me  and,  no  doubt,  divined 
my  purpose,  for  one  of  them  winked  at  me  and  said  quietly, 
"I  hope  you  will  make  it." 

As  we  were  nearing  the  summit  called  White  Pass  where 
the  boundary  line  runs,  the  marshal  joined  our  little  party. 
He  tried  to  start  a  conversation,  but  I  did  not  care  to  talk 
and  neither  did  the  constables,  it  seemed.  I  had  opened  the 
window  some  time  before  and,  luckily,  the  car  was  close 
and  stuffy,  for  the  air  that  came  in  was  decidedly  chill  and 
would  otherwise  have  caused  some  one  to  request  that  the 
window  be  lowered. 

Now  the  cars  were  jerked  ahead,  the  brakes  shrieked  and 
we  slacked  up.  We  were  entering  the  White  Pass  snow- 
shed.  I  was  lounging  in  my  seat,  humming  a  song,  but  my 
mind  was  alert  and  my  muscles  ready  to  respond  when  the 
time  came.  I  kept  my  attention  fixed  on  the  marshal, 
waiting  for  the  moment  the  car  would  pass  the  White  Pass 
station  house.  Then  I  would  be  in  the  United  States  and 
he  would  be  my  only  guard. 

The  constables  were  watching  both  the  marshal  and 
me.  They  seemed  to  be  waiting  on  their  nerves.  I  did 
not  let  them  wait  long.  Our  car  passed  the  lights  of  the 
station  house  and  my  hands,  which  had  been  lying  idle  on 
the  window  sill,  now  had  the  sill  in  a  firm  grip;  my  head 
and  shoulders  flashed  swiftly  through  the  little  open  space. 
But  even  as  my  body  was  falling,  I  felt  something  push 
against  my  legs  and  pin  them  to  the  window  sill.  It  all 
happened  in  a  second,  but  I  was  a  moment  too  late.  The 
train  had  stopped.  I  was  hanging  outside,  my  head  and 
body  down,  and  my  legs  held  inside  by  some  one's  lying  on 
them.     Then  I  heard  the  marshal  say,  "I  am  the  U.  S. 


138  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

marshal  and  I  require  your  help  in  arresting  this  criminal." 
Then  some  more  talk  and  then  several  hands  grabbed  my 
feet  and  legs  and  dragged  me  in  through  the  window  to  the 
car  again.  They  let  go  and  backed  away.  A  couple  of  men, 
brakemen  off  the  train,  and  the  marshal  were  facing  me. 
I  looked  around  to  see  if  there  were  no  other  avenue  of 
escape,  but  there  was  none.  The  marshal  had  his  gun 
pointed  at  my  breast,  and  by  the  way  he  looked  at  me,  I 
could  tell  he  would  shoot,  all  right.  I  had  failed  and  quickly 
made  up  my  mind  that  now  was  not  the  time. 

"All  right,  marshal,"  I  said  quietly,  "I  am  ready  to  go 
with  you." 

*I  don't  like  to  do  this,"  he  said,  as  he  fastened  the  hand- 
cuffs on  me,  but  any  one  looking  at  him  could  see  that  he 
was  mighty  glad  to  get  them  safely  on. 

He  took  me  into  the  baggage  car  away  from  the  curious 
eyes  of  the  passengers.    I  couldn't  help  liking  him  for  that. 

"By  God,  Svend,"  he  said,  "you  must  have  been  going 
some !  How  did  you  manage  it  ?  Where  did  you  go  first  ? 
You  dropped  out  of  sight  completely  and  we  were  abso- 
lutely at  a  loss  till  we  heard  from  Pleasant  Camp  that  you 
had  come  through  there  with  a  big  pack,  a  gun  and  every- 
thing." 

I  could  see  that  he  wanted  to  draw  me  out  about  the 
people  who  helped  me  and  of  course  I  couldn't  think  of 
telling  the  truth.  But  I  told  him  lots  of  things  about  my- 
self, my  ambition  and  my  object  in  being  up  there. 

"It  will  not  be  so  bad,  I  think,"  he  said.  "If  you  hadn't 
taken  that  money,  you  would  have  been  O.  K.  and  the  com- 
missioner could  have  sentenced  you.  Anyway,  we  are 
going  to  do  all  we  can  for  you.  Public  sentiment  is  with 
you,  and  if  you  had  stayed  in  Skagway  when  you  broke  out, 
you  would  have  had  an  easy  time  getting  away.  Most 
anybody  would  have  helped  you.  I  haven't  anything  against 
you  myself,  but  of  course  I  got  to  do  my  duty." 

There  it  was  again.  He  had  to  do  his  duty.  The  public 
would  have  helped  me  get  away;  they  didn't  consider  me 


ONE  MORE  ATTEMPT  AT  FREEDOM  139 

a  criminal  nor  a  menace,  but  the  representatives  of  the  public 
safety  seemed  in  duty  bound  to  lock  me  up  and  to  make  a 
criminal  of  me.  I  wondered  if  it  were  right  that  I  should 
be  locked  up  in  a  cage.  I  didn't  believe  it  could  do  me 
any  good,  neither  could  I  see  where  society  could  benefit 
by  it. 

The  train  rolled  into  Skagway.  "We'll  wait  till  the  rush 
is  over,"  my  guardian  said,  "then  we'll  get  off  on  the 
opposite  side  from  the  station  and  walk  up  town."  So  we 
waited  a  while  and  then  went  through  the  cars  to  the  back 
of  the  train.  I  was  much  interested  in  the  people  we  passed. 
Some  of  the  women  turned  their  faces  away  as  if  trying 
not  to  breathe  the  air  I  was  polluting  with  my  presence; 
some  stared  insolently  at  me,  and  some  were  keenly  inter- 
ested in  me,  while  others  even  nodded  a  bit  to  me  or  smiled. 
Somehow,  I  didn't  feel  that  I  was  an  outlaw  while  I  was  out 
there  on  the  street,  but  when  we  reached  the  courthouse 
and  I  was  searched  from  the  soles  of  my  shoes  to  the  rim 
of  my  hat  and  the  heavy  thud  had  shut  me  off  from  the 
world  I  love,  the  spell  broke  and  I  was  a  prisoner  once 
more.    Again  in  a  gloomy  cage ! 

There  were  two  men  in  the  jail  now  besides  me.  They 
looked  me  over  and  grinned  to  me.  "Eh  heh,"  one  of  them 
grunted,  "you  gave  them  a  good  chase.  Why  didn't  you  stay 
in  some  longshoreman's  cabin  right  here  in  Skagway  ?  Any 
one  of  them  would  have  taken  you  in  and  then  you  could 
have  made  it  out  on  a  boat  easy  enough." 

*I  didn't  know  anybody  here.  I  might  have  gone  into  the 
wrong  cabin,"  I  answered.  "I  took  the  trail  they  would 
least  suspect  me  of  taking  over  the  mountain  where  there 
is  no  trail." 

"Yes,  you  had  them  fooled,  all  right,  for  a  while,  any- 
way. Some  cursed  telltale  up  the  river  somewhere  squealed 
and  they  learned  where  you  was  going,  then  Shorty  Qiam- 
bers  in  White  Horse  gave  you  away  up  there." 

"How  do  you  know  that?" 

"Oh,  that's  easy.    The  marshal  got  a  letter  and  I  sweep 


140  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

out  his  office.    Take  it  from  me,  kid,  the  prisoners  in  any 
jail  knows  all  about  what  is  going  on  in  the  courthouse." 

'Well,  it's  done  with  now,"  I  said,  "and  it's  no  use  figuring 
out  how  it  might  have  been.  How  to  do  it  next  time,  that 
is  the  question." 

"The  hell !  the  hell !  you're  not  going  to  try  it  again,  are 
you?" 

"No,  I  don't  think  they'll  give  me  the  chance,  but  they'd 
better  not  leave  the  door  open." 

This  was  idle  talk,  however,  for  I  was  tired  and  soul  sick. 
I  lay  down  and  rested  till  supper  time.  After  supper,  I 
turned  in  and  slept  soundly  all  night,  awakening  in  the 
morning  to  find  that  my  cell  door  had  been  locked  while 
I  was  asleep.  The  new  jailer  was  not  taking  any  chances 
and  did  not  let  me  out  till  the  marshal  was  there,  too,  and 
one  of  them  had  snapped  a  pair  of  leg  irons  on  my  ankles, 
making  it  impossible  for  me  to  be  anything  but  good.  My 
partners  in  captivity  think  I'll  get  something  between  five 
and  fourteen  years.  I  don't  believe  I'd  last  even  five  years 
in  prison.  It  seems  I  shall  either  die  or  go  crazy  if  they 
keep  me  locked  up  very  long.  I  am  going  to  give  these  two 
long  installments  that  I  have  written  to  one  of  the  prisoners 
to  get  mailed  for  me.  I  had  them  stashed  under  my  arm 
against  my  body  and  they  didn't  find  them  when  they 
searched  me.  Day  after  to-morrow  I  am  to  be  taken  to 
Juneau. 

I  am  your  friend, 

Svend. 


Federal  Prison, 
Juneau,  Alaska. 
Oct.  5,  1914. 
I  am  now  in  a  real  prison.     We  reached  Juneau,  my 
guards  and  I,  in  the  night.     They  brought  me  up  here 
right  away.    The  air  was  heavy  with  fog  and  it  was  raining. 
The  prison  looked  dreadfully  big,  gloomy  and  menacing 
to  me  as  we  approached  it.    It  stands  on  top  of  a  high  bluff 


ONE  MORE  ATTEMPT  AT  FREEDOM  141 

by  the  edge  of  the  fiord  and  it  looked  as  if  it  towered  to  the 
very  skies  in  the  dark,  misty  night.  At  the  foot  of  the 
structure  was  an  iron  door,  which,  at  the  knock  of  my 
guards,  opened  like  the  maw  of  a  silent  monster.  I  was 
pushed  in  and  swallowed  by  it.  I  found  myself  in  a  plain 
cellar  with  white,  concrete  walls.  A  desk  stood  in  the 
corner,  a  bench  was  against  one  wall  and  a  few  chairs  were 
scattered  about.  That  was  all.  There  were  four  men 
sitting  about,  old  men,  they  were,  and  in  the  pale  Hght  they 
looked  wan  and  lifeless  as  they  stood  around  watching  my 
guards  search  through  my  clothes  again  for  some  possible 
knife,  file  or  something.  Then,  when  they  were  sure  I  had 
nothing,  one  of  them  opened  an  iron  door  at  one  side  and 
there  behind  it  was  a  cage,  just  like  an  animal's,  with  a 
walk  around  it.  I  had  heard  the  marshal  from  Skagway 
whisper  to  one  of  the  jail  guards  to  have  me  put  in  the  bad 
man's  cage  and  I  was  expecting  to  be  placed  in  solitary 
confinement,  but  there  were  inmates  in  the  cage  into  which 
I  was  shoved,  for  I  could  dimly  see  them  peering  at  me 
from  their  cells  along  one  wall.  Then  the  door  banged 
shut  behind  me  and  the  bolts  and  bars  clanged  as  they  swung 
into  place  and  I  was  buried  alive. 

A  table  stood  in  the  center  of  the  cage  with  a  bench  on 
each  side.  A  hydrant  and  a  small  sink  were  in  one  end, 
also  a  bathroom  partitioned  off,  all  in  a  space  thirty  feet 
square.  I  counted  six  cells  with  two  bunks  in  each.  As 
far  as  I  could  see,  the  cells  were  all  occupied,  so  I  sat  down 
by  the  table  and  tried  to  sleep  with  my  head  on  my  arms. 
After  a  while  the  outer  door  opened  and  the  turnkey  ordered 
me  over  in  the  corner  farthest  from  the  door.  When  I 
reached  there,  the  inner  door  was  opened  and  two  men 
brought  in  a  mattress,  pillow,  and  some  blankets.  There 
was  an  empty  bed  in  one  of  the  cells  and  I  was  told  to 
make  my  bed  there  and  go  to  sleep. 

Several  times  in  the  night  I  was  awakened  by  one  of  the 
guards  walking  around  the  cage,  flashing  his  searchlight  in 
through  the  bars  now  and  again,  peering  at  the  sleeping 


142  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

prisoners.  It  was  all  very  strange,  very  crushing  and  very 
awe-inspiring.  I  was  a  prisoner  in  a  real  prison,  being 
constantly  watched  over  by  armed  guards ! 

Morning  came  and  one  of  the  guards  rattled  his  keys  on 
the  iron  bars  of  the  cage.  The  prisoners  all  got  up,  washed 
and  dressed.  They  were  a  motley  lot,  three  Japanese,  a 
mulatto,  an  Indian  boy,  a  half-breed,  two  ex-soldiers  whom 
I  knew,  an  Irishman,  who  looked  like  a  sausage  German, 
fat,  complacent  and  satisfied,  besides  two  other  men,  one 
who  looked  like  an  old  timer,  the  other  a  tall,  pale,  young 
person  with  an  evil  gleam  in  his  eyes.  I  immediately  took 
a  dislike  to  him. 

The  three  Japanese  are  in  for  murder;  one  of  them  has 
already  been  sentenced  to  be  hanged.  He  looks  like  a 
nice,  little  fellow  and  it  is  a  shame  that  he  must  be  mur- 
dered like  that.  But  he  has  killed  a  white  man  and  the 
white  men  must  have  revenge.  The  other  two  are  to  be 
tried  for  killing  a  Chinaman  at  a  cannery.  The  old  timer, 
who  has  keen,  sparkling,  blue  eyes  and  long,  red  mustaches, 
is  to  be  tried  for  murder.  He  killed  his  partner  while  they 
were  out  prospecting.  I  must  say  that  he  doesn't  look  like 
a  murderer,  for  his  eyes  are  very  kind  and  his  face  is 
good.  Then  there  are  the  two  ex-soldiers.  They  got  drunk 
and  took  it  into  their  heads  to  rob  an  Indian's  cabin  of  a 
lot  of  furs  and  some  curios  that  were  very  valuable.  Then 
they  took  some  of  the  things  and  tried  to  peddle  them  to 
get  money  for  more  booze.  Of  course,  they  were  caught 
and  have  been  sentenced  to  one  year  apiece.  They  are 
nothing  but  two  fool  kids  who  ought  to  be  in  some  school 
instead  of  in  jail.  Surely,  they  are  not  learning  to  be 
good  in  here  with  nothing  to  do  but  to  sit  around  and  play 
cards  and  idle  the  time  away.  I,  myself,  am  almost  crazy 
from  being  here.  My  head  has  been  aching  ever  since  I 
came,  and  until  I  started  this  writing,  I  haven't  been  able 
to  keep  a  constructive  thought  in  my  mind  for  two  seconds. 
I  have  been  walking  and  walking  around,  staring  at  the 


ONE  MORE  ATTEMPT  AT  FREEDOM  143 

bars,  my  head  throbbing  with  pain.  I  know  that  I  cannot 
live  very  long  here.    I  shall  surely  die  soon. 

But  I  must  forget  about  that  and  write  while  I  can. 
That  Indian  robbed  a  store  while  he  was  drunk.  He,  too, 
is  nothing  but  a  kid.  He  doesn't  know  how  old  he  is  but 
I'll  bet  he  is  not  over  seventeen.  Then  there  is  the  mulatto. 
He  is  not  over  twenty  years  old,  and  sings  or  whistles  all 
day  long.  He  knows  all  kinds  of  melodies,  from  American 
ragtime  to  pieces  of  Faust,  Carmen,  Orpheus  and  many 
other  operas  that  goodness  knows  where  he  has  picked  up. 
He  came  up  here  two  years  ago,  and  immediately  on  his 
arrival,  met  an  Indian  woman  and  bought  whiskey  for  her 
as  she  asked  him.  Then  he  was  arrested  and  sentenced  to 
six  months.  As  soon  as  he  got  out,  he  repeated  the  offense 
and  this  is  the  third  time  he  has  been  in,  for  a  year  this 
time.  Punishing  him  like  this  evidently  does  not  keep  him 
from  giving  whiskey  to  the  Indians,  so  why  not  send  him  to 
a  school  and  give  him  a  chance  to  learn  something?  He 
would  make  a  splendid  musician  I  am  sure  and  I  don't  be- 
lieve that  would  cost  the  people  more  than  to  have  him  tried 
repeatedly  and  kept  year  after  year  in  jail.  There  is  some 
misunderstanding  somewhere. 

The  Irishman  has  forged  a  check  and  has  just  received 
two  years  in  the  Federal  prison.  Then  there  is  the  tall, 
young  man  I  spoke  of.  He  is  doing  ten  months  for  stealing 
a  watch  out  of  another  man's  pocket. 

That's  the  whole  population  of  this  little  world.  They 
are  all  pale  and  sickly  looking,  partly  due,  I  think,  to  the 
electric  lights,  but  mostly  to  being  cooped  up  like  this  and 
not  getting  sufficient  exercise.  The  trusties  bring  our  meals 
here  and  take  the  pans  and  dishes  away.  Sometimes  the 
tall,  young  fellow  takes  them  from  the  door  and  sometimes 
Joe  does.  They  are  safe  men.  The  rest  of  us  must  crowd 
up  in  the  opposite  comer  of  the  room  before  the  guards 
will  open. 

I  am  only  allowed  to  send  one  letter  a  week.  That,  in 
spite  of  the  fact  that  I  have  not  yet  been  tried,  and  am 


144  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

supposed  to  be  considered  innocent.  The  jailer  reads 
everything  that  comes  in  here  and  everything  that  goes  out 
in  the  way  of  mail.  I  don't  think  he  has  a  right  to  read 
a  man's  personal  letters  before  he  has  been  tried  and  found 
guilty,  for,  according  to  my  understanding  of  the  law,  a 
man  is  held  innocent  until  he  has  been  proved  guilty.  But 
maybe  the  jailer  doesn't  know  this.  I  will  have  to  write 
more  letters  than  one  a  week,  for  I  have  many  friends  to 
whom  I  should  write  and  I  must  write  to  my  mother  once 
in  a  while. 

Marian,  if  you  receive  this  installment  of  my  aiary,  you 
must  know  that  I  never  hope  to  have  you  for  a  partner,  for 
when  I  am  through  here,  if  I  do  not  die,  I  will  be  an  ex- 
convict  and  no  good  to  anybody.  And  when  you  meet 
the  man  who  will  be  your  husband,  tell  him  about  me  and 
that  I  am  writing  to  you  only  as  a  friend  and  that  you  do 
me  a  great  service  to  let  me  write. 


Federal  Prison, 
Juneau,  Alaska. 
Oct.  15,  1914. 
I  received  three  letters  from  her  that  were  forwarded 
from  Haines.  They  were  written  a  couple  of  months  ago, 
and  as  I  read  them  the  glorious  times  I  had  last  summer 
came  back  to  me  and  I  am  certainly  thankful  that  I  can 
live  in  the  memories  of  them.  Her  letters  cheered  me,  but 
still  I  couldn't  help  feeling  crushed  by  all  that  I  had  lost. 
But  I  mustn't  think  about  that,  for  when  I  do,  my  mind 
seems  to  quit  thinking  and  I  walk  and  walk  around  the 
cage,  staring  at  the  infernal  bars  that  are  barriers  between 
me  and  life.  Yes,  it  is  life  out  there !  I  can  hear  the  blasts 
of  the  mines  up  in  the  hills  and  the  rattle  of  the  ore  trains. 
I  can  hear  the  steamboat  whistles  echo  from  mountain  range 
to  mountain  range.  I  can  hear  the  busy  hum  of  the  town 
below  this  fortress  of  living  dead,  and  at  times  I  can  hear 
the  sea  gulls  screaming.  I  can  hear  all  these  things  but 
I  cannot  see  them  nor  feel  them  nor  smell  them.     All 


ONE  MORE  ATTEMPT  AT  FREEDOM  145 

around  me  are  iron  bars  and  iron  doors  that  rattle  and 
clang  when  they  open  and  close,  and  every  fifteen  minutes 
the  heavy  footsteps  of  the  guard  as  he  walks  around  the 
cage  peering  at  us  from  under  bushy,  gray  eyebrows.  Oh, 
this  is  death  to  me !  I,  who  used  to  get  up  from  my  bed  in 
the  camp  early,  early  in  the  morning  to  run  and  sing  and 
shout  with  the  joy  of  life ;  I,  who  used  to  climb  the  highest 
mountains  to  hunt  the  goat  and  the  sheep;  I,  who  used  to 
roam  along  nameless  rivers  and  through  strange  valleys 
like  the  freest  and  most  fearless  of  animals,  am  locked  in 
a  dark  and  gloomy  cage  with  a  crowd  of  pale  faced,  un- 
healthy degenerates.  I,  who  used  to  dream  of  love  and 
life  and  the  ideal,  must  live  in  a  cell  with  no  hope  but 
death  or  ruin.  Perhaps,  if  I  knew  how  long  I  had  to  stay 
here,  I  would  not  mind  it  so  much.  I  could  begin  to  figure 
how  many  days  I  would  have  to  stay,  how  many  minutes.  It 
is  the  uncertainty  of  it  that  is  so  depressing.  I  don't  know 
what  is  to  become  of  me.  I  don't  even  know  if  I  am  really 
I,  or  if  this  is  some  hideous  dream  that  I  am  having.  Oh, 
if  it  were  only  a  dream  and  I  could  wake  up  some  fine 
morning  in  my  camp  out  somewhere  in  God's  green  woods ! 
But  no,  no,  no !  I  am  shut  off  from  it  all,  buried  alive  in 
this  barred  hell.  My  head  is  aching  and  I  am  very,  very 
sorry  for  myself. 


At  Oden's  Lake,  Alaska. 
Oct.  29,  1914. 

I  am  free  once  more!  I  have  run  over  the  land  and 
rowed  over  the  water  and  have  put  a  hundred  miles  between 
me  and  Juneau.    But  let  me  begin  at  the  beginning. 

When  I  had  been  in  the  Juneau  prison  about  a  week,  I 
began  to  realize  that  I  would  surely  die  if  I  stayed  there 
very  long,  I  worried  and  worried,  trying  to  think  of  some 
plan  of  escape.  Finally,  I  decided  to  rush  the  guards  and 
take  a  chance  of  getting  through  without  being  shot.  The 
guards  were  very  much  afraid  of  me,  however,  and  wouldn't 
open  the  door  unless  I  was  in  the  farthest  corner  of  the 


146  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

cage.  I  had  to  do  something  to  get  them  to  trust  me,  so 
I  asked  for  an  audience  with  the  prosecuting  attorney.  I 
told  the  whole  story  and  he  wrote  it  down,  word  for  word. 
I  explained  that  I  had  decided  to  plead  guilty  and  that  I 
would  like  to  be  sentenced  as  soon  as  possible;  that  I  had 
ceased  to  struggle  against  my  fate  and  wanted  to  get  through 
this  trouble  as  soon  as  I  could.  He  promised  to  have  my 
trial  hurried  up,  but  made  me  understand  that  in  case  I 
should  change  my  mind,  they  would  not  use  this  statement 
against  me.  I  said  that  I  was  guilty  and  wasn't  going  to 
plead  anything  else.  They  led  me  back  to  the  cage  and 
the  jailer  shook  hands  with  me  and  said  he  was  glad  I 
had  stopped  being  foolish  and  that  I'd  not  get  more  than 
six  months  if  I'd  be  good.  I  said  that  I  could  see  no  use 
in  being  anything  but  good,  and  so  I  was  locked  up  again. 

The  next  day  that  young  fellow,  the  two  ex-soldiers,  and 
Joe  were  taken  to  another  cage,  the  big  cage,  they  call  it. 
Of  the  prisoners  that  were  left  in  our  cage,  the  little  half- 
breed  boy  and  I  were  the  most  safe,  so  we  got  the  job  of 
taking  the  dishes  from  the  trusties  at  the  door.  The  first 
few  times  the  guards  watched  me  pretty  closely,  but  when 
they  saw  that  I  didn't  make  any  false  moves,  they  relaxed 
their  vigilance  and  talked  nicely  to  me  whenever  they  had 
a  chance.  But  I  was  planning  all  the  time,  now  finding  out 
one  thing  about  the  outside,  and  now  another.  One  of  the 
ex-soldiers  became  a  trusty  and  he  told  me  while  he  was 
sweeping  around  the  cage  in  the  morning,  that  there  was  a 
high  wall  on  the  outside  of  the  building,  but  a  path  led  down 
to  the  foot  of  the  cliflf  and  I  made  a  mental  picture  of  it. 

After  supper  one  night  I  gathered  up  the  dishes  and 
when  the  trusties  came  for  them,  I  took  them  to  the  door. 
There  were  two  guards  besides  the  turnkey,  one  on  each 
side  of  the  door  when  he  opened  it.  The  heavy  door  swung 
open  just  as  one  of  the  guards  was  inquiring  about  my 
health.  "I  am  fine,"  I  said,  and  when  the  trusty  reached  for 
the  dishpan  full  of  knives,  forks  and  plates,  I  threw  them 
up  against  the  ceiling  of  the  corridor  and  darted  in  under 


ONE  MORE  ATTEMPT  AT  FREEDOM  147 

them  to  the  passage  that  led  to  the  kitchen.  The  dishes 
made  an  awful  clatter  and,  no  doubt,  confused  the  guards 
tremendously,  for  I  didn't  hear  them  call  "Halt"  or  any- 
thing. The  outside  door  to  the  cook  shack  was  open  and 
I  flew  through  it  and  around  the  corner  of  the  building 
to  where  I  thought  the  trail  led  to  the  foot  of  the  cliff  and 
the  beach.  It  was  pitch  dark  and  I  did  not  hit  the  path  but 
ran  right  off  the  wall  and  fell  into  the  darkness. 

I  landed  on  my  head  and  shoulders  and  rolled  over  and 
over  down  a  slippery,  muddy  slide,  landing  against  a  shack 
at  the  bottom.  I  was  surprised  to  find  that  I  wasn't  all 
broken  up.  I  had  banged  one  of  my  knees  against  a  rock 
or  something  and  was  bruised,  and  the  little  finger  on  my 
left  hand  was  broken  over  backwards  and  out  of  joint.  I 
picked  myself  up  and  looked  about.  Right  above  me  was  a 
plank  road  built  on  piles.  I  crawled  up  on  it  and  ran  along 
through  the  rain  out  of  town  and  on  to  the  Salmon  Creek 
road  without  meeting  any  one.  I  was  in  shirt  sleeves  and 
bare  headed  and  was  soon  wet  to  the  skin,  but  I  was  free 
and  on  the  trail  and  going  somewhere.  I  passed  Salmon 
Creek  and  came  to  where  the  road  runs  through  deep 
woods  with  overhanging  spruce  trees.  Here  it  was  so  dark 
that  I  had  to  feel  my  way  with  my  feet  and  so  could  not  go 
very  fast.  Suddenly  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  light  a  little 
way  ahead  of  me.  Some  one  was  striking  matches  in  the 
middle  of  the  road.  I  stepped  quietly  down  into  the  ditch 
and  moved  cautiously  along.  As  I  drew  nearer  I  could  see 
by  the  matches  the  form  of  a  man  sprawling  on  a  bridge. 
I  could  hear  him  cursing  and  talking  to  himself  and  I 
thought  he  was  hurt,  so  I  hurried  up  to  him  and  helped 
him  to  his  feet.  With  many  hiccoughs  and  curses  he  told  me 
that  he  and  his  partners  were  going  on  a  hunting  trip  on 
Admiralty  Island.  They  had  been  camped  outside  of  town 
about  four  miles,  waiting  for  the  tide  to  turn  so  they  could 
get  out  of  the  channel  and  into  Icy  Strait.  He  had  gone 
to  town  to  buy  some  more  whiskey  and  on  the  way  back 
he  missed  the  camp  and  "kind  of  lost  my  head,"  and  kept 


148  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

on  walking  till  he  reached  Knudsen's  ranch.  There  they 
had  given  him  a  handful  of  matches  and  sent  him  back  on 
the  right  road  to  town.  He  was  now  quite  sobered  up 
but  he  was  sick  and  couldn't  see  where  he  was  going.  I 
got  him  off  the  bridge  and  was  about  to  leave  him,  when 
I  thought  that  I  had  better  post  him  as  to  what  to  say  if 
he  were  questioned  about  seeing  any  one.  He  sounded  like 
the  kind  of  fellow  one  could  depend  upon,  even  though 
he  had  been  drunk. 

"See  here,  friend,"  I  said  earnestly  to  hold  his  attention, 
"I  have  just  broken  out  of  jail  and  am  trying  to  make  my 
getaway.  If  any  one  asks  you  if  you  have  seen  me  on  this 
road,  you  will  say  no,  won't  you  ?" 

"You  bet  I  will,"  he  said  with  decision.  "But  say,  I  got 
it.  You  come  with  me.  The  bunch  I'm  with  is  all  right. 
We're  going  to  be  hunting  for  a  couple  of  weeks  and  by  the 
time  we  get  back,  the  excitement  will  have  died  down  and 
you  can  step  on  board  some  boat  and  get  below  easily 
enough.    Come  on." 

So  we  went  back  to  town  together,  but  when  we  came  to 
their  cabin,  we  found  it  empty!  We  rushed  to  the  beach 
and  searched  for  the  boat,  but  it  was  gone.  When  the 
tide  was  right  they  had  left,  leaving  my  new  friend  behind. 

This  changed  the  situation  entirely  for  me  and  I  had 
to  begin  making  a  new  set  of  plans.  We  decided  to  rest 
a  while  and  then  to  go  to  Knudsen's  ranch,  cross  the  bar 
to  Douglas  Island  and  see  if  the  men  were  encamped  down 
there  somewhere.  We  put  some  big  chunks  of  wood  on  the 
fire  and  lay  down  beside  it.  I  used  an  empty  tomato  can 
for  a  pillow  in  the  Japanese  fashion  and  rested  very  well 
indeed,  but  not  for  long,  for  my  friend  was  anxious  to  be 
going  and  so  was  I.  After  putting  out  the  fire  we  hiked 
off  through  the  wet  grass  of  the  swamp  to  the  road.  Right 
after  daylight  we  reached  Knudsen's  ranch.  My  partner 
was  almost  worn  out,  so  we  decided  to  try  to  get  something 
to  eat 


ONE  MORE  ATTEMPT  AT  FREEDOM  149 

Mrs.  Knudsen  was  very  kind  and  gave  us  a  good  break- 
fast of  hot  cakes  and  coffee. 

After  we  left  them,  we  walked  over  a  wide,  grassy 
meadow  to  the  beach.  The  tide  was  low  and  left  the 
channel  across  the  bar  high  and  dry.  We  hurried  across, 
for  the  bar  is  two  miles  wide  and  the  tide  comes  as  fast 
as  it  goes.  We  strolled  along  the  beach  for  about  four 
miles  and  then  met  a  couple  of  boys  who  were  going  to 
Juneau,  My  partner  went  with  them,  but  I  kept  on  along 
the  beach,  hoping  to  find  a  boat  or  something  in  which  I 
could  get  away. 

Toward  evening  I  came  to  a  log  cabin  in  the  edge  of  the 
woods.  I  sneaked  up  to  it  and  heard  men  talking  inside. 
When  I  heard  them  speaking  Norwegian,  I  came  out  of 
the  brush  and  went  in  to  them.  I  knew  one  of  them,  for  he 
was  in  Porcupine  when  I  was  there,  and  had  also  been 
in  the  stampede.  I  told  them  how  things  were  with  me 
and  they  said  they  had  a  boat  they  would  give  me.  I  ate 
with  them  and  after  supper  one  of  them  fetched  a  small 
skiff  from  up  a  slough  where  they  had  cached  it. 

I  asked  them  not  to  tell  any  one  they  had  seen  me  and 
they  said  they  wouldn't.  As  soon  as  darkness  fell  I  started 
across  the  bay.  I  had  decided  to  row  the  hundred  odd 
miles  to  Skagway  and  to  try  to  get  aboard  a  Canadian 
steamer  there.  I  felt  sure  that  I  could  borrow  money 
from  some  of  my  soldier  friends,  and  by  disguising  my 
appearance  a  bit,  I  could  get  through  Skagway  all  right. 
The  weather  was  calm  and  it  was  pitch  dark,  but  I  was 
not  afraid  of  getting  lost,  for  there  were  lighthouses  and 
blinkers  all  along  the  beach  and  I  knew  that  if  I  stayed 
with  the  shore  and  kept  on  rowing,  I  would  get  up  Lynn 
Canal  past  Haines  to  Skagway  sooner  or  later.  At  day- 
break I  came  to  a  small  island  where  I  landed  and  tried 
to  make  a  fire,  but  the  matches  my  Norwegian  friends  had 
given  me,  had  become  wet  and  I  was  out  of  luck.  They 
had  also  given  me  a  half  loaf  of  bread  and  four  large 
potatoes.     They  hadn't  had  much  themselves  and  I  was 


150  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

very  thankful  for  what  they  had  given  me.  I  ate  the  bread 
and  saved  the  potatoes  for  another  time;  then,  as  it  was 
raining  and  I  was  getting  cold,  I  climbed  into  my  skiff  and 
rowed  cautiously  on  along  the  cliffs  of  the  islands  till  I  came 
to  Bemer's  Bay  late  that  afternoon,  almost  fifty  miles  from 
Juneau. 

The  Norwegians  had  given  me  an  old  hat  and  a  rain 
coat,  but  they  were  both  worn  out  and  I  had  been  wet  all 
night  and  day.  But  I  had  a  good  big  meal  before  starting, 
and  with  the  rowing  and  the  half  loaf  of  bread  in  the 
morning,  I  had  kept  quite  warm.  Out  in  the  middle  of  Ber- 
ner's  Bay  a  cold  north  wind  with  rain  sprang  up  and  I 
had  to  buck  it,  and  in  spite  of  the  hard  rowing  I  had  to 
do,  I  grew  cold;  but  I  kept  on  for  about  four  hours  until 
I  reached  the  other  side  of  the  bay.  When  the  bow  of 
my  boat  finally  scraped  on  the  pebbly  beach  of  the  cove 
I  entered,  my  fingers  were  so  cold  and  stiff  and  tired  that 
I  could  not  let  go  of  the  oars  but  had  to  break  them  loose 
on  my  knees.  I  ate  a  couple  of  raw  potatoes  and  tried  to 
sleep  on  the  moss  at  the  foot  of  a  tree  that  stood  close 
to  an  overhanging  cliff,  but  I  was  too  cold  and  wet  and 
couldn't  make  it.  My  body  shook  and  my  muscles  knotted 
in  cramps.  There  was  only  one  thing  that  I  could  do  and 
that  was  to  keep  on  rowing,  so  I  went  back  to  the  skiff 
and  rowed  on  along  the  shore. 

The  wind  from  the  north  had  died  out  and  the  water 
had  quieted  down,  except  for  a  heavy  ground  swell  that 
came  from  the  other  side  of  the  fiord  where,  through  the 
evening  gloom,  I  could  see  white  breakers  driven  along  by 
a  north  gale.  I  rowed  along  a  ragged  shore  with  innumer- 
able points  and  little  bays  and  reefs.  Darkness  came  and 
the  cliffs  began  to  look  like  houses  and  the  rocks  along  the 
beach  like  docks  and  stairways.  Several  times  I  thought 
sure  I  saw  a  little  cabin  in  there  and  rowed  in  to  investigate, 
but  every  time  it  was  only  some  large  rock.  The  swells 
pounded  on  the  beach  and  they  made  a  noise  like  trains 
rumblng  past  and  once  or  t\yice  I  thought  I  saw  a  train 


ONE  MORE  ATTEMPT  AT  FREEDOM  151 

passing  when  a  long  swell  broke  against  the  rocks.  The 
moon  came  out  and  shone  on  the  sleek,  gray,  granite  cliffs, 
making  them  look  like  long  rows  of  houses  with  lighted 
windows.  Constantly  I  wanted  to  make  for  the  shore  and  go 
up  those  nice  stairs  to  the  people  who  called  to  me  from  the 
streets,  but  my  inner  self  told  me  that  the  hum  of  voices 
I  heard  was  only  the  pounding  of  the  swells  against  the 
rocks  and  that  it  was  better  for  me  to  stay  out  on  the  water 
and  keep  rowing.  I  was  so  sleepy  and  tired  that  I  was  not 
quite  sure  I  knew  where  I  was  but  I  kept  on  and  on,  for 
to  keep  on  was  what  I  was  in  the  boat  for  and  I  never  failed 
to  be  aware  of  that. 

I  passed  some  piles  that  were  standing  out  of  the  water 
and  in  a  little  bay  there  was  a  cabin.  I  was  sure  about  it 
this  time,  for  the  moon  was  high  and  shone  on  its  window 
panes.  I  rowed  up  to  the  sandy  beach,  broke  loose  my 
fingers  from  the  oars,  threw  over  my  rock  anchor  and 
walked  up  to  the  cabin.  It  was  open  and  there  was  no 
one  there.  There  was  nothing  there.  I  felt  on  the  shelves 
and  in  the  cupboard,  but  they  were  empty.  I  could  not 
even  find  a  match.  There  was  a  bedstead  but  no  bedclothes, 
and  there  wasn't  a  rag  of  old  clothes  or  anything  that  I 
could  see. 

I  took  off  my  rain  coat  and  put  it  over  me  as  I  lay  down 
on  the  bare  boards  of  the  bunk.  I  lay  there  and  shivered 
all  night  long.  Toward  morning  it  seemed  to  grow  warmer 
and  I  actually  fell  asleep.  I  woke  up  some  time  in  the 
forenoon  and  began  to  look  around  for  something  to  eat 
I  ate  the  rest  of  my  raw  potatoes  and  I  saw  where  a  smoked 
salmon  had  lain  on  the  floor.  The  mice  had  eaten  most  of 
it,  but  the  skin  was  left,  as  were  a  few  scattered  crumbs 
here  and  there.  I  picked  up  each  minute  piece  and  ate  it, 
chewing  it  well  to  make  the  most  of  it.  Outside  the  door 
I  found  a  half  slice  of  bread  in  the  grass.  It  was  all  swollen 
and  like  mush  from  the  rain,  but  it  was  food  and  I  ate  it, 
too,  taking  care  not  to  waste  one  bit  of  it.  I  searched  all 
over  but  that  was  absolutely  all  the  food  that  was  to  be 


152  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

found  around  there,  so  I  went  down  to  the  beach,  emptied 
the  water  out  of  my  boat  and  started  toward  the  north 
again.  A  strong  north  wind  was  blowing  and  I  made  but 
little  progress.  During  the  day  I  passed  another  trap  cabin, 
but  it,  too,  was  absolutely  devoid  of  food,  though  I  found  an 
old,  soiled  quilt,  which  I  took  along  with  me. 

I  rowed  against  the  wind  all  the  rest  of  that  day,  stopping 
now  and  again  at  some  creek  to  drink  water,  for  water  was 
all  that  I  would  get  till  I  reached  Haines.  In  the  evening 
the  wind  died  down  and  I  made  better  time.  Just  after 
dark  I  passed  Point  Sherman  and  then  the  wind  sprang  up 
from  the  south.  It  came  in  sharp,  stiff  puffs  at  first,  but 
grew  steadier  and  steadier  and  at  last  became  a  strong  gale 
that  swept  me  along  over  the  water.  Away  ahead,  in  the 
middle  of  the  canal,  I  could  see  the  lighthouse  on  Eldred 
Rock.  I  knew  that  there  was  a  lighthouse  tender  there 
and  decided  to  make  for  it  and  try  to  make  a  landing.  The 
keeper  would  surely  feed  me  and  take  me  in  and  no  one 
would  think  of  coming  there  to  ask  about  a  runaway  pris- 
oner. 

It  didn't  seem  so  very  far  to  the  light,  but  though  I 
rowed  and  rowed  and  was  blown  along  by  the  wind,  I  ap- 
parently got  no  nearer.  The  waves  grew  larger  and  long 
white  caps  began  to  break  all  about  me.  I  began  to  be 
worried  and  when  a  breaker  came  over  the  stem  of  the 
boat  half  filling  it,  I  became  really  frightened.  I  grabbed 
the  bailing  can  and  bailed  out  as  fast  as  I  could,  then  I 
plied  my  oars,  headed  for  the  lighthouse  again,  but  a  great 
breaker  rose  out  of  the  black,  phosphorescent  deep  and 
with  its  white  crest,  rushed  up  on  me  and  broke  into  the 
boat.  This  time  I  was  nearly  swamped,  and,  as  the  water 
kept  coming  in,  it  was  a  long  time  before  I  got  my  little 
craft  bailed  out  again.  The  lighthouse  was  still  a  long  way 
off  and  I  saw  that  I  could  never  make  it  in  that  sea  so  I 
headed  for  the  shore. 

I  rowed  close  in  to  the  shore,  but  there  was  no  place  to 
land,  just  g^eat,  big  mountains  rising  straight  up  from  the 


ONE  MORE  ATTEMPT  AT  FREEDOM  153 

water's  edge.  There  was  a  point  ahead  of  me.  I  could  see 
the  dark  outline  of  the  rock  and  the  white  line  where  the 
waves  broke  madly  on  the  reef.  There  might  be  shelter 
behind  that,  I  thought,  and  held  out  a  little  to  keep  off  the 
reef.  There  was  the  thunder  of  crashing  waves  as  I 
passed  and  swung  the  nose  of  my  skiff  toward  the  shore. 
A  few  hurried  strokes  and  I  was  in  a  little  bay  some  twenty 
feet  deep  and  only  six  feet  wide.  It  was  merely  a  crevice 
between  two  great  bowlders  that  had  fallen  off  the  mountain 
to  form  this  little  harbor.  1  fastened  my  boat  to  one  of  the 
rocks  and  crawled  up  on  the  shore,  looking  for  some  shel- 
tered spot  so  that  I  might  lie  down,  but  the  cliff  was  bare 
and  the  wet  wind  swept  over  it.  There  was  shelter  down  in 
my  boat,  though,  and  I  climbed  down  there  again,  bailed  her 
out  and  lay  down  in  the  bottom,  the  wet  quilt  over  me.  Here 
I  stayed  all  through  the  night,  shivering  and  shaking  and 
with  cramps  in  my  arms  and  legs,  bailing  out  now  and  again 
to  keep  from  lying  in  the  water.  The  tide  went  out  and  left 
us  high  and  dry  but  I  didn't  sleep.  I  just  lay  there  and 
suffered  with  cold  till  the  morning  broke  through  the  night 
clouds  and  filled  the  fiord  wth  a  gray,  misty  light.  The 
wind  had  abated  somewhat,  and  as  my  business  was  to  find 
warmth  and  food,  I  pushed  my  little  boat  off  the  seaweedy 
rocks  and  started  another  day's  work.  The  rowing  didn't 
seem  to  warm  me  up,  if  what  I  did  could  be  called  rowing, 
it  was  so  desultory  and  ineflfective;  but  the  wind  was  with 
me  and  kept  me  drifting  along. 

I  felt  that  I  could  not  possibly  reach  Skagway  without 
food,  so  I  decided  to  make  for  Haines.  I  had  to  cross  the 
fiord,  so  I  turned  the  bow  of  my  skiif  toward  the  islands 
on  the  other  side  and  rowed  on.  The  sun  broke  through  the 
clouds  and  warmed  things  up  a  bit  and  I  grew  very,  very 
sleepy.  I  kept  dropping  over  on  my  oars  and  my  eyes 
would  close.  It  seemed  as  if  there  were  some  one  in  the 
boat  with  me  who  talked  and  kept  shaking  me  to  keep  me 
awake.  I  would  wake  with  a  start,  trying  to  remember 
where  I  was,  then  my  head  would  clear  and  I  would  row 


154  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

a  while  before  dropping  over  again,  and  again  some  one 
would  shake  me  and  shout  in  my  ear.  I  cursed  him  and 
fought  him  and  we  didn't  seem  to  be  in  a  boat  at  all  but 
up  on  a  street  where  many  people  were  passing,  or  standing 
looking  on  at  my  fight  with  that  fellow.  Street  cars  were 
gliding  past,  clanging  their  bells,  and  trains  rushed  over- 
head with  shrill  blasts  of  their  whistles  trying  to  wake  me, 
all  trying  to  wake  me.  I  rowed  and  swore  and  my  back  was 
numb  and  aching  and  my  hands  froze  to  the  oars.  The 
wind  died  down  and  evening  fell.  I  had  long  since  passed 
the  Chilkat  Islands  and  was  past  Point  Seduction  half  way 
up  the  peninsula.  A  deep  bay  lay  ahead  of  me.  "It  must 
be  Flat  Bay,"  I  thought  dully  and  rowed  on  half  uncon- 
scious. 

The  bow  of  the  skiff  grated  on  the  gravelly  beach.  I 
looked  up  in  wonderment.  Where  was  I,  anyway?  I 
couldn't  remember.  Everything  seemed  blurred  and  strange. 
I  tried  to  get  to  my  feet,  but  the  boat  slipped  from  under 
me  and  I  fell  into  the  water.  A  great  dread  settled  over 
me.  "High  tide  line,"  I  thought.  "I  must  reach  high  tide 
line." 

I  crawled  out  of  the  water  and  started  up  the  beach 
on  my  hands  and  knees.  My  God,  would  I  never  reach 
high  tide  line!  I  lay  down  time  and  again  and  wanted  to 
sleep,  but  the  thought,  "High  tide  line,"  kept  coming  into 
my  head  and  driving  me  on.  My  body  was  so  heavy!  I 
could  hardly  drag  it  over  the  pebbles.  My  head  kept 
dropping  down  into  the  gravel,  my  face  hurt,  but  it  would 
drop  down.  I  crawled  on  desperately.  Now  my  hands 
were  in  a  lot  of  slimy  seaweed.  There  were  some  sticks — 
a  little  farther  and  everything  would  be  all  right.  .  .  . 

Something  hard  was  pressing  against  my  head.  I  moved 
and  it  hurt;  I  moved  again  and  began  to  wonder  what  it 
was.  I  found  myself  lying  on  my  face  on  a  pile  of  sea- 
weed, sticks  and  stuff.  I  tried  to  get  to  my  feet,  but  my 
arms  and  legs  were  almost  paralyzed  and  would  not  respond 
to  my  efforts.    I  lay  a  long  time  trying,  before  I  could  get  to 


ONE  MORE  ATTEMPT  AT  FREEDOM  155 

my  hands  and  knees.  It  was  morning.  The  sky  was  clear 
and  there  had  been  a  frost,  for  everything  on  the  beach  was 
bedecked  with  a  coating  of  white  crystals.  I  crawled  up 
the  beach  to  the  ridge,  overgrown  with  tall  grass  and  weeds 
and  there,  a  little  distance  off,  was  a  house,  a  real  house ! 
I  could  get  to  my  feet  now,  so  I  staggered  over  the  meadow 
to  the  place.  I  knocked  on  the  door  but  no  answer  came. 
Then  I  went  in.  It  was  a  real  house  with  a  kitchen  and  a 
living  room.  Nobody  had  been  there  for  some  time,  how- 
ever, for  there  was  moldy  food  on  the  table  and  the  clock 
had  stopped.  I  rummaged  around  and  found  some  bacon, 
onions,  flour,  sugar  and  everything  I  needed.  There  was 
kindling  ready  in  the  woodshed  and  soon  I  had  a  fire  going 
in  the  stove  and  bacon,  potatoes  and  onions  cooking.  I 
couldn't  wait  until  they  were  done,  but  ate  out  of  the  frying 
pan  all  the  time  they  were  cooking.  I  put  a  batch  of  biscuits 
in  the  oven  and  made  syrup  and  when  the  biscuits  were 
done,  I  ate  and  ate  and  ate.'  Then  I  fell  asleep  right  there 
in  the  kitchen,  waking  up  to  eat  again.  After  that  I  slept 
till  late  the  next  day,  when  I  began  to  plan  as  to  the  next 
move.  It  was  dangerous  to  stay  there.  I  wasn't  acquainted 
with  the  man  to  whom  the  house  belonged,  but  in  my  case, 
necessity  knew  no  law.  I  had  to  take  some  of  his  grub,  but 
I  resolved  to  pay  for  it  as  soon  as  I  got  on  my  feet.  I 
didn't  take  much,  though,  a  chunk  of  bacon,  a  few  pounds 
of  flour,  some  potatoes  and  a  few  other  things  that  were 
necessary.  I  put  it  all  in  a  pack  and  carried  it  over  the 
beach  to  this,  my  lair,  in  a  thicket  on  the  brink  of  Odin's 
Lake.  This  is  the  place  I  had  picked  for  my  home.  Here 
I  had  hoped  some  day  to  be  happy  with  my  mate.  When 
I  came  here  two  days  ago  the  sun  was  shining  on  the  lake, 
the  trout  were  jumping  clear  out  of  the  water  for  the  last 
bugs  of  the  season,  bluejays  were  hopping  from  limb  to 
limb  to  investigate  their  new  neighbor  and  a  flock  of  ducks 
swam  round  in  circles  out  there  on  the  sunshiny  water, 
quacking  disturbedly  over  my  presence.  Oh,  I  have  lost 
the  finest  place  to  live  that  I  have  ever  seen!    The  quiet. 


IS6  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

forest-enclosed  lake  surrounded  by  deep  green  spruce  trees 
with  a  rim  of  birches  drooping  over  the  crystal-clear  water, 
and  the  high,  silent  hill  standing  guard  against  the  north 
wind!  And  I  have  lost  it!  If  they  catch  me,  I  shall  never 
be  able  to  take  up  a  homestead,  for  I  shall  be  a  citizen  no 
longer  but  an  ex-convict.  If  they  don't  catch  me,  I  can 
never  live  here,  for  I  am  too  well  known.  I  wonder  if  I 
could  bequeath  this  paradise  to  Marian,  so  that  if  she  ever 
wishes  to  marry  a  man  who  wishes  to  take  up  a  homestead, 
she  can  send  him  here  to  look  at  this  place  first.  It  is  worth 
a  long  journey,  just  seeing  this  spot. 

I  walked  to  Fort  Seward  yesterday  to  see  a  friend  about 
getting  some  money  to  get  away  on.  I  learned  from  a  sol- 
dier that  the  sergeant  I  was  looking  for  had  gone  on  a 
fishing  trip  and  was  not  to  be  back  for  several  days,  so  I 
came  back  here  to  stay  for  a  few  days  longer.  I  am  camped 
under  a  large  spruce  tree  in  a  very  close  thicket.  There 
is  a  cliff  between  my  camp  and  the  fiord  and  no  one  can 
see  my  smoke  from  below.  They  would  have  to  climb  the 
cliff  and  look  down  on  me  to  find  me  and  no  one  would 
think  of  doing  that.  It  would  be  perfectly  safe  to  stay 
here,  but  that  can't  be  done.  I  must  out  and  away  some- 
where where  I  am  not  known  and  where  I  can  live  like 
other  men.  I'll  go  to  the  States  or  Canada  and  the  little 
world  up  here  will  soon  forget  that  there  ever  was  such  a 
person  as  Svend  Norman. 

I  am  getting  drowsy  and  I  think  I  will  lie  down  and  sleep 
a  while.  I  have  some  blankets  I  borrowed  over  at  my 
neighbor's  ranch.  I'll  return  them  when  I  leave  here.  When 
I  go  to  Fort  Seward  in  a  couple  of  days,  I  will  post  this 
installment 


CHAPTER  XIV 

PEDEIIAL    PRISON,    JUNEAU 

On  board  the  S.  S.  Evans, 
Nov.  4,  1 9 14. 

NO,  I  am  not  on  my  way  to  freedom  but  on  my  way 
to  jail.  I  have  been  struggHng  against  Fate,  un- 
changeable Fate.  I  am  doomed  to  the  penitentiary, 
I  can  see  that  plainly  enough  now.  I  was  safe,  quite  safe, 
and  yet  I  was  caught.  They  were  hunting  me,  of  course, 
but  they  had  no  idea  where  I  was  and  were  just  strolling 
about,  hoping  to  find  some  trace  of  me  and  accidentally,  ran 
right  into  me.    But  I  might  as  well  tell  how  it  came  about. 

Two  days  ago  I  went  in  to  the  Post  to  see  my  friend.  I 
found  that  he  would  be  back  that  evening.  I  didn't  want 
to  be  seen  hanging  around,  so  I  hiked  out  into  the  woods 
and  hid  during  the  day.  It  was  cold  and  gray  that  day, 
everything  was  frozen  hard  and  toward  evening  it  began 
to  snow.  I  made  my  way  down  to  the  Chilkat  beach  to 
seek  shelter  in  an  old  cannery  there.  A  boat  lay  down 
on  the  beach  and  I  was  curious  to  see  whose  it  was.  It 
was  not  fastened,  and  as  the  tide  was  coming  in,  it  was 
about  to  float  away.  I  pulled  it  up  a  bit  and  was  taking  the 
painter  to  tie  it  to  a  rock,  when  I  saw  some  one  coming 
along  the  beach.  He  looked  like  a  soldier  and  I  thought 
I  would  send  a  message  to  the  Post  by  him,  so  I  sat  down 
on  the  prow  of  the  boat  to  wait. 

When  he  came  closer,  I  saw  that  he  was  not  a  soldier 
but  an  old  man,  and  then  I  supposed  that  he  was  a  fisherman 
and  that  this  was  his  boat.  When  he  came  within  fifty  feet 
of  me  he  pulled  out  a  great  big,  long  revolver  and  yelled 

157 


158  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

for  me  to  put  up  my  hands.  Even  then  I  didn't  suspect  that 
he  was  an  officer,  but  supposed  that  he  was  a  bit  queer,  as 
so  many  old  men  are  up  here,  and  that  he  thought  that  I 
was  trying  to  steal  something  from  his  boat. 

"Hey,"  I  yelled  good  naturedly,  "put  that  gun  up.  It 
might  go  off.     I'm  not  trying  to  steal  anything  from  you." 

The  man  came  closer,  stuck  the  muzzle  of  his  gun  right 
into  my  stomach  and  just  as  I  was  wondering  if  I  ought  to 
grab  it  and  take  it  away  from  him,  he  said  sternly  in  a  voice 
I  seemed  to  know,  "Put  up  your  hands,  Svend,  and  cut  out 
your  foolishness.    I've  got  you." 

Then  I  recognized  him.  He  was  one  of  the  jail  guards. 
I  was  so  surprised  that  I  forgot  all  about  getting  away, 
but  sat  there  in  a  daze,  staring  at  him  while  he  put  hand- 
cuffs on  me.    After  all  my  trouble,  this  was  the  result ! 

"Will  you  promise  not  to  try  to  get  away,  or  shall  I  put 
leg  irons  on  you,  too  ?"  Egan  was  saying. 

"Promise?  I  promise  nothing,"  I  said  bitterly  enough, 
"My  business  is  getting  away." 

Three  soldiers  were  coming  along  the  road  and  the  guard 
hailed  them. 

"I  need  your  assistance  to  get  this  man  to  jail," 

One  of  the  soldiers  was  a  sergeant  and  he  took  in  the 
situation  at  a  glance.  He  laughed  heartily.  "Lord,  man, 
you've  got  chains  on  him  and  you  have  a  gun  in  your  hand. 
What  more  do  you  want?" 

"I  don't  care,"  Egan  said  angrily.  "He  allows  he'll  get 
away  from  me  and  he's  as  bad  as  they  make  'em.  I'm  a 
U.  S.  marshal  and  I  deputize  you  fellows  to  help  me  get 
this  man  to  jail.     He's  a  dangerous  criminal." 

The  sergeant  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "I  don't  know 
whether  you  have  a  right  to  do  this  or  not,"  he  said,  "but 
let  that  go.    What  do  you  want  me  to  do?" 

"You  fellows  stand  by  and  follow  us  and  if  he  tries  to 
get  away  from  me,  grab  him!" 

"All  right,"  the  sergeant  said,  and  winked  to  me  on  the 
side  as  if  to  say,  "Kid,  if  you  make  a  break  for  it,  don't 


FEDERAL  PRISON,  JUNEAU        159 

worry  about  my  getting  you."  Then  we  started  along  the 
beach  to  town. 

Of  course  I  didn't  get  any  chance  to  get  away.  Jack 
Egan  stayed  right  with  me  and  had  me  by  the  arm  with  one 
hand  and  a  great  big  gun  in  the  other.  There  was  no  need 
for  the  three  soldiers  behind  us  at  all.  Besides,  I  wasn't 
so  very  anxious  to  get  away.  I  was  hungry  and  hadn't 
been  extra  warm  out  there  in  the  woods  and  if  I  stayed  with 
my  guard,  I  would  soon  get  food  and  warmth  and,  what 
was  better  than  anything  else,  some  mail  from  my  friends. 
Best  of  all,  I  might  get  a  letter  from  her  and  that  last  was 
perhaps  even  worth  going  to  jail  for.  So  I  came  along 
without  trouble. 

Egan  told  me  that  the  whole  army  was  out  looking  for 
me.  He  said  that  they  had  men  on  every  road,  at  Porcu- 
pine, Pleasant  Camp  and  Dalton  Post.  This  last  was,  I 
knew,  a  pure  and  simple  fabrication,  for  it  is  impossible 
to  get  across  the  summit  at  this  time  of  year.  He  told 
me  that  they  had  a  regular  cordon  across  the  peninsula 
and  that  I  had  no  chance  to  get  away.  He  tried  to  get  the 
sergeant  to  corroborate  this,  but  the  sergeant  said  that  he 
knew  nothing  about  it  and  that  he  believed  that  the  marshal 
was  talking  through  his  hat. 

"I  will  report  you  to  the  captain  for  assisting  this  crim- 
inal, by  God !"  Egan  swore  at  him,  and  later  I  learned  what 
had  made  him  so  angry.  After  I  had  been  locked  in  jail, 
he  was  telling  the  Haines  marshal  about  it. 

"These  are  the  damnedest  people  I  have  ever  seen  right 
here  in  this  town,"  he  growled  as  he  stamped  up  and  down 
in  the  little  guardroom.  "I  knew  damned  well  they  all  knew 
where  he  was  and  not  one  of  them  would  tell  me.  Several 
of  them  even  said  they  were  sorry  they  didn't  know,  be- 
cause they  would  help  him  get  away.  I  asked  one  of  them 
point  blank  if  he  would  help  an  escaped  prisoner  and  he 
said,  'You're  damned  right.  I'd  help  Svend  Norman  any 
time.' " 

And  there  it  is  again.    My  own  townspeople  would  help 


i6o  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

me  against  their  own  law  administrators.  I  know  better 
than  to  steal.  I  couldn't  steal  again.  I've  learned  my 
lesson  and  I  think  I  have  already  paid  sufficient  penalty 
for  my  sin.  But  the  marshal  would  shoot  to  kill,  should 
I  try  to  get  away  from  him.  The  marshal  has  nothing 
against  me  particularly,  but  he  has  to  do  his  duty  to  society, 
which  doesn't  care  particularly  to  have  me  in  jail  and  would 
rather  have  me  out.  Even  the  man  whom  I  robbed  came  up 
to  see  me  when  I  was  in  the  Skagway  jail  and  said  he  was 
sorry  for  me  and  that  everybody  sympathized  with  me. 

In  Haines  many  of  my  friends  came  to  see  me.  Some  of 
them  came  who  really  felt  sorry  for  me  and  they  offered 
financial  assistance  and  real  help,  while  others  came  only 
to  look  at  me.  My  guards  were  very  anxious  about  my 
safe-keeping  and  kept  irons  on  me  all  the  time.  The  night 
I  spent  there  I  was  locked  in  the  dark  cell  with  irons  on 
my  legs  and  Egan  slept  outside  the  door.  He  would  be 
sure  I  did  not  get  away  among  all  those  criminally  friendly 
Haines  people. 

In  the  early  morning  the  boat  came  and  they  took  me 
on  board  and  locked  me  in  a  stateroom.  This  evening  we 
will  reach  Jimeau  and  the  jail  again.  But  there  will  be 
letters ! 


Federal  Prison, 
Juneau,  Alaska, 
Nov.  10,  1914- 
I  received  her  dear  and  cheerful  letter.     I  oughtn't  to 
consider  myself  so  unfortunate  with  such  a  good  friend  as 
she  is.    It  was  very  good  of  her  to  say  that  this  business 
doesn't  make  any  difference  in  our  relations,  but  from  my 
standpoint  it  does  make  a  deep  difference,  for  before  I  had 
hoped  some  day  to  be  able  to  make  her  my  wife,  while  now 
the  most  I  can  hope  for  is  to  be  allowed  to  remain  her 
friend.    When  I  get  out,  if  there  is  anything  left  of  me 
to  make  anything  out  of,  I'll  go  to  Australia  or  some  other 
country  and  begin  life  anew.    I  have  taken  the  opinion  of 


FEDERAL  PRISON,  JUNEAU         i6i 

every  prisoner  here  in  the  cage  as  to  what  length  my  term 
will  be  and  the  average  is  eight  years.  Jail  breaking  is  a 
very  serious  offense,  and  though  the  guards  say  that  I  will 
not  be  charged  with  that,  it  may  be  that  they  are  only 
telling  me  that  to  keep  me  from  worrying.  Anyway,  I  am 
not  going  to  break  out  any  more.  I  have  had  my  fling  at 
it  and  have  lost.  Now  I  am  ready  to  take  my  medicine. 
What  it  will  be  is  a  constant  wonder  and  worry  to  me.  The 
Grand  Jury  sits  in  Ketchikan  on  the  twentieth  and  I  shall 
be  taken  there  for  trial. 

The  ex-soldiers  have  been  moved  back  to  the  bad  man's 
cage  because  they  got  into  a  fight  in  the  other  place.  I  re- 
ceived a  hearty  welcome  when  I  came  back  here  from  my 
mad  dash  for  liberty,  and  the  Irishman,  who,  before  my 
escape,  had  treated  me  somewhat  aloofly,  now  respects  me 
quite  a  lot. 

I  don't  believe  I  have  said  anything  about  the  Kangaroo 
Court.  It's  quite  an  institution.  The  first  morning  I  was 
here,  one  of  the  prisoners  took  out  a  large,  loose  leafed 
book  and  called  for  order  in  the  cage.  This  was  Harry, 
one  of  the  ex-soldiers.  The  other,  Carl  his  name  is,  took 
the  long  bench  from  the  side  of  the  table  and  put  it  against 
the  wall.  All  the  rest  of  the  prisoners  came  and  sat  down 
on  it  in  silence.  Then  Harry,  who  was  judge,  rapped  with 
a  small  gavel  for  silence  and  Carl,  who  was  sheriff  of  the 
court,  came  to  me  and  said  that  I  was  under  arrest.  I  had 
to  smile,  he  was  so  serious  about  it.  He  escorted  me  to 
where  the  judge  was  sitting,  watching  the  proceedings 
soberly.  Then  Carl  called  loudly,  "Hear  ye,  hear  ye,  hear 
ye!  The  Kangaroo  Court  of  this  jail  is  now  in  session. 
Honor  the  judge,"  and  sat  down. 

"What's  your  name,"  the  judge  inquired. 

I  told  him  and  he  put  it  in  the  book. 

"It  is  customary  in  this  jail  to  try  each  prisoner  by  the 
Kangaroo  Court,"  he  began.  "First,  I  want  you  to  under- 
stand what  this  court  is  and  how  it  benefits  every  man  who 
comes  here.     Every  new  prisoner  who  enters  this  cage  is 


i62  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

tried  by  us  and  fined  two  dollars.  This  money  is  used  to 
buy  sugar,  milk,  apples,  tobacco,  stamps  and  stationery, 
which  are  used  in  common  by  all  of  the  prisoners.  If  a 
prisoner  hasn't  the  money  but  has  prospects  of  getting  some, 
we  can  wait  till  he  gets  it.  If  he  hasn't  any  money  at  all, 
he  is  sentenced  to  work  out  his  fine  at  the  rate  of  twenty- 
five  cents  a  day,  either  cleaning  the  table  after  each  meal, 
or  sweeping  the  floor  after  each  meal.  Article  One  reads: 
'Any  man  who  enters  this  jail  without  the  consent  of  the 
inmates  will  be  fined  two  dollars.'  That  is  what  you  are 
charged  with.    Are  you  guilty  or  not  guilty?" 

"I  am  guilty,"  I  said. 

"All  right,  are  you  willing  to  pay  your  fine?" 

"I  am,"  I  assured  him,  "but  I  haven't  any  money  yet.  I 
have  some  coming  from  a  friend.  I  don't  mind  sweeping 
the  floor,  but  I'll  pay  the  money  when  I  get  it  just  the 
same." 

That  was  all  right,  the  judge  assured  me,  and  after  sign- 
ing my  name  to  a  bill  for  an  order  on  the  money  when  it 
should  come,  the  court  was  adjourned  and  I  was  a  full 
fledged  member  of  their  organization. 

It's  a  very  useful  thing,  this  court.  The  sheriff  keeps  a 
timetable,  making  every  member  take  his  turn  at  sweeping 
the  floor  and  scrubbing  the  table.  Every  Saturday  the 
whole  bunch  turns  out  and  scrubs  the  cage  and  in  the  bath- 
room the  sheriff  has  a  tablet  where  each  prisoner  records 
when  he  takes  a  bath.  When  a  man  who  is  lousy  comes  into 
the  cage,  the  sheriff  sends  for  insect  powder  and  sees  to  it 
that  the  man  gets  rid  of  the  pest,  and  I  suppose  there  are 
many  other  ways  which  I  don't  know  about,  in  which 
Kangaroo  Court  is  beneficial. 

A  new  prisoner  has  come  here,  a  French  Canadian  named 
John,  charged  with  forging  a  check  for  six  hundred  dol- 
lars. He  says  he  is  guilty,  so  it  won't  hurt  if  I  write  about 
it.  He  was  a  steward  aboard  one  of  the  boats  and  found 
this  check  belonging  to  a  fisherman,  in  a  stateroom.  He 
took  it  up  to  a  bank  in  Juneau,  getting  the  owner  of  a  pool 


FEDERAL  PRISON,  JUNEAU         163 

hall  here  in  Juneau  to  indorse  it,  and  with  the  money  got 
away  to  Seattle.  There  he  had  a  great  time  spending  it,  he 
said,  but  two  plain  clothes  men  arrested  him  and  brought 
him  here. 

"I'll  probably  get  a  year,"  John  said.  "I'll  make  six 
hundred  dollars  in  that  year,  and  the  only  difference  from 
working  is  that  I  won't  have  to  work  and  I  have  already 
spent  the  money." 

Now,  that's  what  I  call  a  queer  way  of  looking  at  the 
matter.  Evidently  jail  has  no  terrors  for  John.  He  doesn't 
seem  to  think  he  has  done  anything  wrong;  indeed,  he 
thinks  he  was  pretty  smart  to  get  the  check  cashed  and 
get  away  with  the  money  before  they  caught  him.  What 
to  do  with  a  man  like  that  is  a  real  problem.  What  he  lacks 
most  is  a  social  conscience.  He  doesn't  realize  .the  inter- 
dependence of  all  men.  Now,  I  know  it  was  wrong  of  me 
to  break  into  that  store  and  I  feel  that  I  ought  to  make 
reparation.  I  am  not  a  child  nor  a  fool;  I  knew  better, 
and  had  society  put  me  to  hard  work  for  a  month  or  so 
and  taken  my  earnings  to  pay  for  the  damage  done,  I  would 
surely  have  felt  that  I  was  being  justly  treated.  I  think 
that  if  John  were  put  on  hard  labor  until  he  had  made  good 
the  damage  he  had  done,  he  would  understand  before  it  was 
over  that  he  had  committed  a  wrong  against  his  fellow  man. 

I  am  still  bothered  by  headaches,  but  I  think  I  shall  get 
over  them.  Ito,  the  little  Japanese  who  is  to  be  hanged, 
told  me  he  used  to  have  headaches,  too,  when  he  first  came 
in,  but  that  he  gradually  became  used  to  being  here  and  now 
he  is  perfectly  adapted  to  it.  He  is  a  remarkably  nice  little 
fellow;  so  pleasant,  so  liftle  and  so  dainty.  He  is  like  a 
little  yellow  pansy  growing  among  tall  weeds.  It  seems 
impossible  that  he  would  have  killed  anybody,  and  still  more 
impossible  that  he  is  to  be  hanged.  In  the  early  morning, 
before  the  other  prisoners  are  up,  Ito  goes  quietly  to  the 
bathroom  and  takes  a  cold  bath;  then,  when  he  is  all  fresh 
and  clean,  he  goes  into  his  cell  and  offers  up  his  morning 
prayer  on  his  knees  by  his  bunk,  whispering  to  his  God.    At 


i64  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

breakfast  his  face  is  quietly  radiant,  the  face  of  a  man 
whose  soul  is  at  peace  with  God.  He  seldom  speaks  to 
any  one  in  the  cage  except  when  he  is  spoken  to,  but  then 
he  is  as  pleasant  and  accommodating  as  can  be.  He  is 
always  on  the  lookout  to  help  or  do  some  kind  deed.  I 
didn't  have  paper  to  write  on  when  I  first  came,  for  the  two 
sheets  the  jailer  had  given  me  were  used  up.  I  was  not 
through  writing  and  was  about  to  call  the  jailer  to  ask 
for  more  paper,  when  Ito  saw  my  need  and  came  with  a 
whole  handful  of  sheets. 

"I  have  lots,"  he  said  simply  and  pleasantly.  "My  friends 
give  me." 

John  had  no  hair  brush  and  was  using  the  Irishman's, 
who  didn't  like  it  a  bit  and  looked  angry  and  scowled  and 
it  would  have  ended  in  some  kind  of  a  row,  but  Ito  produced 
an  extra  brush. 

"I  give  you,"  he  smiled.     "I  got  two." 

I  am  beginning  to  find  out  that  being  in  jail  is  not  as 
bad  as  I  thought  it  was.  I  walk  around  and  around  for 
exercise,  besides  doing  the  setting  up  exercises  that  I  learned 
in  the  army.  I  think  I  shall  at  least  be  able  to  keep  my  body 
in  good  shape  while  I  am  here.  The  Irishman  tells  me  that 
at  McNeill's  Island  where  the  Federal  Penitentiary  is  and 
where  I  am  sure  to  go,  there  is  a  big  farm  and  a  rock 
quarry  and  all  the  prisoners  work  every  day.  I  had  im- 
agined that  I  would  be  locked  up  in  a  cage  to  sit  and  repent, 
and  I  knew  that  would  soon  kill  me,  but  if  they  let  me 
work,  I  shan't  mind  it.  Thus,  I  am  becoming  resigned  to 
my  fate,  whatever  it  be.  Whenever  I  see  Ito's  kind  and 
peaceful  face,  I  feel  ashamed  of  myself  for  "Raving  made 
such  a  fuss  over  my  trifling  troubles.  He  is  to  be  hanged 
by  the  neck  until  he  is  dead ! 

The  other  two  Japanese  are  very  different  from  Ito.  One 
is  Yamaguchi;  the  other  Yamashita,  yet  they  are  not 
brothers  and  are  as  different  from  each  other  as  they  both 
are  from  Ito.  Yamaguchi  is  short  and  strongly  built,  is 
swarthy  of  complexion  and  has  flashing,  fiery,  black  eyes 


FEDERAL  PRISON,  JUNEAU         165 

that  gleam  through  narrow  slits.  I  can  imagine  his  killing 
a  man,  all  right.  He  is  quick  of  action  and  his  talk  is  like 
a  machine  gun's  fire,  it  is  so  rapid  and  forceful,  but  under 
his  fiery  surface  Yamaguchi  is  kind,  too.  The  other  day 
when  one  of  his  friends  brought  him  a  bag  of  apples,  he 
gave  every  one  of  us  one  of  them,  gave  Ito  two,  and  ate 
only  one  himself. 

Yamashita  is  rather  tall  for  a  Jap  and  looks  more  like  a 
Qiinaman  than  a  Japanese.  His  head  is  as  round  as  a  ball 
and  his  nose  is  flat  and  he  grins  all  the  time,  except  when  he 
is  praying  in  the  morning.  He  says  his  prayers  in  a  sing- 
song voice,  kneeling  on  the  floor  with  is  arms  stretched  out 
and  his  face  on  the  bunk.  Yamaguchi  doesn't  pray.  He 
scoffs  at  the  others  and  doesn't  believe  in  it. 

"There  is  no  God,"  he  said  vehemently  when  I  asked  him 
about  his  religion. 

But  Yamashita  thinks  there  is  a  God,  though  he  says 
he  can't  explain  it  in  English.  I  always  used  to  be  preju- 
diced against  the  Japanese,  I  don't  know  why,  but  now 
I  find  that  I  like  them  pretty  well,  perhaps  even  tfetter  than 
some  of  the  white  men  here. 

The  jailer  is  complaining  about  my  dairy  letters  being 
too  long.  He  has  to  read  every  word  of  them,  he  says,  so 
I'd  better  not  make  this  one  any  longer. 


Ketchikan,  Alaska. 
Nov.  22,  1914 

I  am  getting  to  be  quite  a  traveler.  If  they  keep  me 
traveling  like  this  all  the  time  I  am  in  jail,  I  won't  mind 
it  a  bit.  This  is  the  fifth  jail  I  have  been  in  since  I  got 
into  this  trouble,  and  while  each  is  a  little  different  from  the 
rest,  there  is  one  thing  about  them  all  and  that  is  that  now 
I  am  used  to  them  I  feel  quite  at  home. 

There  were  sixteen  of  us  who  came  from  Juneau  and  at 
Wrangell  and  Petersburg  they  picked  up  several  more,  all 
to  be  indicted  by  the  Grand  Jury,     When  we  left  here^ 


i66  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

the  guards  took  us  out  of  the  cages,  chained  us  together, 
two  and  two  in  a  long  line,  and  thus  they  marched  us  down 
to  the  steamboat.  A  gang  of  kids  followed  us,  chasing  up 
and  down  the  line,  now  looking  at  one  pair  of  us,  now  at 
another.  I  was  chained  to  John  and  he  laughed  and  made 
grimaces  at  the  kids,  and  before  we  reached  the  dock,  the 
whole  bunch  of  them  were  laughing  and  yelling  around  John 
and  me  and  I  was  glad  when  we  got  aboard  the  Alki  away 
from  the  racket. 

The  guards  locked  us  in  staterooms  and  then  took  off 
our  handcuffs.  Mine  were  not  taken  off,  though,  until 
they  had  a  big  pair  of  leg  chains  around"  my  ankles,  and 
these  were  kept  on  till  we  reached  Ketchikan  the  next  after- 
noon. Then  we  were  chained  up  again  to  be  taken  to  the 
jail  there. 

This  courthouse,  like  the  one  in  Juneau,  stands  impos- 
ingly on  a  hill,  as  if  to  dominate  the  town.  In  Europe  I 
have  seen  many  cities  and  small  towns  and  when  there  is 
a  hill  like  this  in  or  near  the  town,  usually  there  is  a  church 
or  cathedral  on  it,  with  the  houses  of  the  people  clustered 
about  it  like  sheep  seeking  the  protection  of  the  shepherd. 
Could  it  be  that  this  courthouse  stands  in  the  position  of 
the  church  and  that  I  am  really  a  wolf  about  to  be  tried 
by  the  good  shepherd  ?  I  cannot  say  that  I  feel  like  a  wolf 
or  even  like  much  of  a  sinner.  It  seems  that  I  am  ex- 
periencing a  great  adventure.  Since  I  have  seen  and  lived 
with  Ito,  I  have  received  lessons  in  fortitude,  and  had  I 
but  a  fraction  of  the  trust  in  God  that  he  has,  I  should 
be  a  very  happy  man. 

There  are  lots  of  different  men  in  this  jail,  most  of  them 
charged  with  giving  liquor  to  Indians,  It  seems  that  the 
men  get  drunk  and  then  some  Indian  man  or  woman  comes 
along,  asks  for  booze  and  gets  it.  Then  the  Indian  comes 
back  for  more  and  threatens  to  have  the  man  arrested  if 
he  doesn't  give  him  more,  and  the  end  of  it  is  quite  in- 
evitable; the  Indian  becomes  very  drunk  and  the  man  is 


FEDERAL  PRISON,  JUNEAU         167 

put  in  jail  by  the  marshal.  The  Indian  is  called  as  a 
witness  before  the  Commissioner,  the  Grand  Jury  and  the 
Court,  drawing  a  witness  fee  all  the  time.  One  can  see 
where  an  Indian  might  find  it  an  easy  living,  or  quite  a 
help  on  the  grocery  bill,  to  get  white  men  to  give  or  sell 
him  liquor.  Some  of  the  men  here  claim  that  several  of 
the  Indians  actually  make  a  practice  of  this  business. 

There  are  three  Swedes  here  who  built  a  log  cabin  for 
themselves  somewhere  in  the  woods  near  Ketchikan.  They 
had  no  furniture,  so  they  took  some  from  an  old  deserted 
cabin  near  the  town.  It  happened  to  belong  to  some  one 
and  he  had  the  three  men  arrested  for  larceny.  I  don't 
think  they  have  ever  been  in  jail  before,  for  they  are  all 
broken  up  about  it  and  quarrel  constantly  about  which  one 
of  them  was  actually  to  blame.  I  would  Hke  to  be  at  their 
trial,  for  I  think  it  will  be  very  interesting  to  witness. 

There  is  a  little  Japanese  here  who  is  the  most  beautifully 
colored  man  I  have  ever  seen.  He  is  olive  tinted,  rosy  pink 
and  his  cheeks  look  so  smooth  and  silky  that  one  fairly 
wants  to  touch  them.  He  calls  himself  Richard  and  I 
believe  he  is  part  white,  for  although  he  has  no  education 
except  what  he  has  picked  up,  he  is  not  tongue  bound  like 
most  orientals.  What  English  he  speaks,  he  pronounces 
correctly  and  without  accent. 

I  am  getting  pretty  well  acquainted  with  some  of  the 
other  men.  One  day  one  of  the  Mexicans  asked  me  to 
write  a  letter  for  him  and  since  then  I  have  written  quite 
a  few.  Some  days  they  all  get  a  writing  streak  on  and  I 
have  to  do  a  dozen  or  more.  One  thing  I  find,  and  that  is 
that  no  matter  how  bad  they  are  or  what  awful  thing  they 
have  done,  there  is  some  good  in  every  one  of  them  and  a 
lot  of  good  in  most  of  them.  Even  Julian,  the  Apache 
whom  the  others  call  the  Snake,  has  kindness  in  his  heart, 
for  he  gives  away  everything  he  has,  from  money  to  the 
clothes  off  his  back.  To-morrow  I  expect  to  be  taken 
before  the  Grand  Jury  to  be  questioned  and  indicted. 


i68  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

Ketchikan,  Alaska. 
Nov.  26,  1 914. 

A  few  days  have  passed  and  I  have  caught  up  with  my 
corespondence.  There  is  no  limit  to  the  letters  we  can 
send  here  and  everybody  has  been  very  busy  writing  or 
having  me  write  for  them.  I  have  written  letters  of  love 
to  sweethearts,  wives  and  mother^ ;  letters  to  friends  asking 
for  their  assistance  and  letters  thanking  friends  for  favors. 
The  little  Japanese  had  me  write  four  letters  of  thanks 
to  people  who  had  been  good  to  him  and  had  tried  to  help 
him  out  of  his  present  trouble. 

He  just  told  me  the  story  this  morning.  He  was  working 
in  a  sawmill  in  Ketchikan  and  had  become  acquainted  with 
an  Indian  girl,  whom  he  had  taken  to  the  moving  picture 
show,  to  dances  and  around  to  various  places.  Some  Indian 
lads  had  become  jealous  of  him  and  had  threatened  to  do 
away  with  him  if  he  didn't  quit  his  attentions  to  the  girl 
of  their  race.  One  night  when  he  was  home,  they  had  come 
and  knocked  on  his  door.  He  got  out  of  bed  and  took  a 
penknife,  the  only  weapon  he  had,  for  he  could  tell  by  the 
noises  the  Indians  made  that  they  were  drunk.  He  quietly 
drew  the  bolt  and  threw  the  door  wide  open,  tumbling 
the  Indians  in  on  him.  He  slashed  to  right  and  left,  cutting 
up  two  of  them  pretty  badly,  and  all  three  withdrew,  where- 
upon Richard,  thinking  it  was  over,  went  to  bed  again.  The 
Indians,  however,  went  to  the  marshal  and  told  him  they 
had  been  attacked  by  a  Japanese  and  had  him  arrested. 
This  happened  two  months  ago  and  Richard  has  been  here 
ever  since,  waiting  for  the  Grand  Jury  to  indict  him.  He 
is  charged  with  assault  with  a  dangerous  weapon  with 
intent  to  kill.  It  will  be  interesting  to  see  what  his  luck 
will  be. 

I  was  taken  up  before  the  Grand  Jury  yesterday.  They 
were  in  a  large  office  with  chairs  all  around  the  wall.  Most 
of  them  were  elderly  men,  and  though  they  were  there 
to  investigate  my  case  and  others,  they  showed  remark- 
ably little  interest  in  their  work.    They  were  sitting  rotmd 


FEDERAL  PRISON,  JUNEAU         169 

in  groups,  talking  and  smoking,  and  the  air  in  the  room 

was  pungent  with  the  unmistakable  odor  of  stale  whiskey. 
My  indictment  was  read  aloud  by  some  one  and  then  one 
of  them  asked  me  if  I  were  guilty  and  when  I  said  I  was, 
that  was  all  there  was  to  it.  They  didn't  investigate  why 
or  how.  The  indictment  read  that  I  had  willfully,  unlaw- 
fully, maliciously  and  feloniously  with  premeditated  fore- 
thought, broken  into  that  store  and  stolen  said  goods.  Evi- 
dently, they  had  made  it  appear  as  bad  as  they  could,  but 
the  Grand  Jury  didn't  care.  They  seemed  merely  to  be 
putting  in  the  time  to  get  it  over  with.  I  was  taken  back 
down  to  the  cage  and  another  man  taken  up  there,  and 
so  it  went  all  day.  What's  the  good  of  a  Grand  Jury,  any- 
way, when  that  is  all  they  do  ? 

Have  I  actually  committed  a  malicious  felony  with  pre- 
meditated forethought?  It  doesn't  seem  to  me  that  it 
was  that  way.  I  can  remember  that  I  was  very  hungry. 
It  seems  to  me  that  the  paper  they  read  was  more  malicious 
than  I  have  ever  been.  I  have  seen  many  drawings  of 
justice  with  the  scales  and  blindfolded  eyes.  The  person 
who  drew  up  that  paper  must  have  been  very  prejudiced 
against  me  or  he  must  have  been  stark  blind  both  to  sense 
and  justice.  I  wonder  who  it  could  have  been.  Surely,  not 
the  man  from  the  store,  for  he  seemed  kindly  disposed  to- 
ward me.  Was  it  the  Skagway  marshal?  I  doubt  if  he 
knows  that  many  wicked  words.  If  he  did  do  it,  he  is  a 
hypocrite  of  the  first  water,  for  he  was  very  nice  to  me. 
I'll  have  to  find  out  who  makes  those  indictments,  after 
dinner.  .  .  . 

I  have  found  out  about  the  indictments.  They  gave  some 
of  them  to  the  men  who  are  to  plead  not  guilty,  so  they 
or  their  lawyers  can  study  them  and  prepare  their  defense. 
They  all  look  and  read  almost  alike,  with  the  exception 
of  the  actual  details  of  the  various  crimes  of  which  they 
are  accused.  They  all  did  willfully,  unlawfully,  maliciously 
and  feloniously  with  premeditated  forethought  commit 
their  mistakes.     It's  merely  a  form  they  have  of  saying  it 


I70  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

and  it  seems  to  me  that  they  have  chosen  the  most  damning 
form  they  could  find.  If  I  plead  guilty  to  committing  my 
mistake,  for  that  was  what  it  really  was,  in  the  manner 
they  have  put  it,  I  brand  myself  a  vicious  criminal,  not  fit 
to  live  among  men.  If  I  plead  not  guilty,  my  trial  will 
probably  be  delayed  a  long  time,  for  they  haven't  made 
ready  to  prosecute  me.  I  surely  want  to  get  over  this  as 
soon  as  I  can,  yet  I  don't  like  to  plead  guilty  to  doing  such 
an  awful  thing,  but  I  did  break  into  the  store  and  I  wouldn't 
deny  it  to  any  one.    Well,  time  will  show  what  it  is  to  be. 


CHAPTER  XV 

MY  TRIAL — JOHN    PUTS   IT  OVER 

Ketchikan,  Alaska. 
Nov.  30,  1914. 

AT  last  it  is  over  and  I  know  my  fate.  All  the  prison- 
ers who  have  promised  to  plead  guilty  were  notified 
'  that  they  were  to  go  before  the  court  yesterday 
morning.  They  all  shaved  and  spruced  up  in  grand  shape, 
borrowing  shirts  and  collars  and  whole  suits  from  the  men 
who  are  to  be  tried  later.  They  evidently  wish  to  appear 
as  respectable  as  possible  before  the  court.  John  shaved 
himself  and  got  a  face  massage  from  one  of  the  men  who 
is  a  barber  by  trade.  Then  he  put  on  a  brand  new  shirt, 
collar  and  cuffs  with  gold  buttons  and  things.  He  put  on 
a  fine  new  suit  of  clothes  he  had  bought  with  his  stolen 
money  and  he  offered  to  loan  me  his  other  suit,  but  I  felt 
that  I  would  be  more  like  myself  in  my  overalls  and  mack- 
inaw.  When  John  got  through,  he  looked  more  like  a  chorus 
leader  than  a  forger  about  to  receive  his  sentence. 

I  didn't  dress  up  but  went  as  I  was.  We  were  taken  to 
the  court  in  the  afternoon.  There  were  a  dozen  of  us  and 
we  just  filled  the  two  benches  that  were  standing  at  one 
side  of  the  judge's  throne.  One  by  one  we  were  called 
up  and  asked  if  we  had  a  lawyer.  None  of  us  had  any 
and  the  judge  appointed  for  each  of  us  the  same  lawyer 
and  then  they  sent  us  into  a  side  chamber  to  consult  with 
him. 

Once  again  in  the  courtroom,  the  judge  set  the  trials 
of  all  the  men  who  were  to  plead  guilty  for  that  same  eve- 
ning and  we  were  sent  to  the  cage  again  for  supper. 

171 


■11    ■  ^■n-»~-^-*^"''»'*' »L"  ■rry-r*-^^^'^  Lir.'^X: 


172  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

At  eight  o'clock  we  were  all  called  up  again  and  taken 
to  the  courtroom.  Our  indictments  were  read  one  by  one, 
and  after  each  had  been  read,  the  prisoner  would  stand  up 
and  plead  guilty.  The  lawyer  would  say  a  few  words  and 
ask  the  judge  to  be  lenient  and  the  judge  sat  with  his  elbows 
on  the  desk  and  his  head  resting  on  his  hand  and  said 
wearily,  "Six  months :  one  year :  three  months ;"  and  so 
on,  whenever  the  lawyer  was  through. 

Then  John's  case  was  called.  His  indictment  sounded 
bad,  very  bad.  John  stood  with  bowed  head,  a  white,  per- 
fumed, silk  handkerchief  in  his  hand,  with  which  he  wiped 
his  eyes  now  and  then. 

The  judge  was  moved  to  kindness  by  his  misery.  Such 
a  clean,  well  dressed  young  man,  it  was  too  bad.  "Have 
you  anything  to  say  for  yourself?"  he  asked. 

"I — I — didn't  do  it  on  purpose," — sniff,  sniff,  John 
whined,  "Your  Honor — I  was  going  to  give  the  man  his 
check," — sniff,  sniff — "but  two  of  the  other  stewards  said 
I  was  a  fool  and  made  me  cash  it.  They  helped  me  spend 
the  money," — sniff,  sniff — "I  only  got  a  suit  of  clothes  and 
my  teeth  fixed," — sniff,  sniff.  To  look  at  him,  one  would 
think  he  was  a  hard  luck  fellow,  all  right. 

The  prosecuting  attorney,  after  asking  the  court's  per- 
mission, said,  "Your  Honor,  I  have  investigated  this  lad's 
career  and  have  written  to  his  father.  He  comes  from  a 
very  good  and  respectable  family  and  has  always  been  a 
good  boy  till  this  thing  happened.  His  father  wrote  me 
that  John  has  been  following  a  straight  and  narrow  path 
since  he  left  home  as  far  as  he  knew.  Your  Honor,  I  would 
like  to  ask  you  to  be  lenient  with  the  boy.  I  don't  think  he 
is  a  criminal  at  heart  and  I  am  sure  he  won't  do  anything 
wrong  again." 

The  judge  sat  pondering  a  while,  his  head  on  his  hand. 
He  was  evidently  surprised  that  the  prosecuting  attorney 
should  defend  instead  of  prosecute.  "Do  you  understand," 
he  began,  talking  to  John,  "that  the  crime  that  you  have 


MY  TRIAL— JOHN  PUTS  IT  OVER  173 

just  plead  guilty  to  is  generally  punished  with  from  three 
to  fifteen  years  in  the  penitentiary?" 

John  burst  into  tears  and  boo-hooed  like  a  child  but  he 
didn't  answer. 

"I  have  considered  your  case,  however,"  the  court  con- 
tinued, "and  I  have  decided  to  be  lenient  with  you.  I  will 
give  you  fifteen  months  to  be  served  in  the  Federal  Jail 
in  Juneau." 

"Thank  you.  Your  Honor,"  John  sniffed,  and  then  my 
name  was  called  and  I  stood  up. 

My  indictment  was  read  by  the  clerk  and  the  judge 
looked  coldly  at  me  all  the  while,  giving  me  the  stubborn 
feeling  that  I  was  facing  an  enemy.  I  had  decided  to  tell 
how  I  had  come  to  make  my  mistake  and  that  made  me 
even  more  determined  to  do  so.  After  the  thing  was  read, 
the  judge  asked  me  if  I  were  guilty  or  not  guilty. 

"I  am  guilty,"  I  said,  and  was  about  to  speak  when  my 
lawyer  was  recognized  by  the  judge. 

I  don't  remember  all  he  said,  but  I  made  up  my  mind 
that  when  he  was  through  I  would  speak  for  myself.  The 
judge  asked  the  usual  question, — "Have  you  anything  to  say 
for  yourself  before  I  sentence  you?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  I  said,  and  he  motioned  for  me  to  begin  and 
get  it  over  with, 

"I  went  over  the  Dalton  trail  to  White  Horse  to  look 
for  a  job,"  I  began.  I  would  tell  as  much  as  I  could,  any- 
way. "I  had  been  prospecting  and  my  money  was  all  used 
up.  There  was  no  work  in  White  Horse,  so  I  hiked  over 
the  railroad  to  Skagway,  where  I  got  enough  money  for  a 
nugget  pin  for  a  couple  of  meals.  Then  I  was  without 
money  again  and  was  trying  to  get  to  Haines.  I  tried  to 
stow  away  on  the  Georgia,  but  the  captain  saw  me  and 
chased  me  off.  I  was  cold  and  hungry  and  it  was  raining 
hard.  I  know  now  that  I  should  never  have  let  myself  get 
so  hungry.  I  should  have  begged  some  food,  but  it  is  too 
late  to  know  that  now.  As  I  walked  there  in  the  street 
that  night,  I  thought  of  all  the  food  that  was  in  the  stores 


174  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

and  all  of  a  sudden  I  began  planning  to  break  into  one  of 
them.  And  I  did  so.  I  took  a  g^nny  sack  full  of  stuff  and 
some  money.  I  knew  1  was  doing  wrong  when  I  took  the 
money,  but  I  had  been  broke  so  long  that  I  was  doing  wrong 
anyway,  so  I  took  it.  That's  how  it  happened.  I  had  never 
done  anything  like  that  before.  If  the  court  will  investigate 
my  record,  he  will  find  that  I  have  been  a  decent  person.  I 
have  no  one  here  to  defend  me.  There  is  no  one  here  to 
tell  that  I  have  been  decent  and  respectable  before  I  got  into 
this  trouble,  so  I  must  do  it  myself.  I  have  recently  been 
discharged  from  the  United  States  army  and  I  have  an 
honorable  discharge  here  in  my  pocket  if  the  court  cares 
to  see  it." 

The  prosecuting  attorney  was  about  to  get  up  and  I 
could  see  by  his  eagerness  to  speak  that  he  was  about  to 
remind  the  court  of  my  jail  breaking,  for  the  judge  was 
now  plainly  interested  in  me.    I  beat  hm  to  it,  however. 

"And,  sir,  I  have  lived  an  outdoor  life,  always.  I  don't 
believe  I  have  ever  spent  a  whole  day  inside  a  house,  for 
I  can  never  remember  having  been  sick.  Then,  when  I 
was  locked  up  in  jail,  it  depressed  me  awfully.  I  thought 
that  I  would  surely  die  and  I  escaped  whenever  I  had  the 
least  bit  of  a  chance.  Did  you  ever  see  a  wild  bird  just 
caught  and  put  in  a  cage?  It  flies  about  frantically,  and 
give  it  the  least  opportunity,  and  it  is  gone  out  of  the  cage 
to  the  free,  clear  outside.  Your  Honor,  I  was  just  like 
that.  To  get  out  was  all  I  could  think  of  when  I  was 
first  locked  up.  You  can't  blame  me  for  trying  to  get  away. 
I  have  learned  that  it  is  no  use  and  that  the  law  is  stronger 
than  I ;  I  have  learned,  also,  that  living  in  jail  is  not  as 
bad  as  I  had  thought  it  would  be  but,  sir,  if  you  will  let 
me  go  free  and  I  can  get  a  job,  I  can  promise  that  I  shall 
never  do  any  wrong  again  if  I  can  help  it.  I  ask  the  court 
for  a  suspended  sentence."  It  was  the  longest  speech  I 
have  ever  made  and  I  was  surprised  at  my  own  eloquence. 
The  judge,  too,  was  surprised  and  the  prosecuting  attorney 


MY  TRIAL—JOHN  PUTS  IT  OVER  175 

stared  at  me  as  if  to  say,  "You  sure  have  a  nerve  asking 
for  a  suspended  sentence  after  what  you  have  done." 

"Let  me  see  your  discharge,"  the  judge  said  and  I  handed 
it  to  one  of  the  guards  who  stood  by  me  and  he  took  it 
to  the  bench. 

The  judge  read  it  through  carefully.  "You  have  been 
honorably  discharged  from  the  United  States  army,"  he 
spoke  and  looked  more  kindly  at  me.  "It  says  here  that 
the  character  of  your  service  has  been  honest  and  faithful 
and  that  your  character  is  excellent.  Now,  Norman,  this 
is  as  good  a  recommendation  as  any  one  can  have,  one  that 
I  must  take  into  consideration.  On  account  of  your  jail 
breaking,  it  is  impossible  for  me  to  give  you  a  suspended 
sentence.  You  have  caused  us  enough  expense  and  trouble 
to  justify  our  sending  you  to  the  penitentiary  for  a  long 
term.  Let  me  tell  you  that  if  I  send  you  there,  they  will 
cut  your  hair  close,  put  you  in  a  suit  of  stripes  with  a 
number  on  your  back,  and  when  you  get  out  again,  you  will 
be  no  good,  no  citizen  and  nobody  will  have  any  use  for  you. 
During  the  time  you  have  been  in  jail,  you  have  shown  your- 
self to  be  stubborn  in  your  determination  to  obstruct  justice 
and  we  are  forced  to  protect  ourselves  against  you,  so  I 
will  sentence  you  to  the  penitentiary  for  fifteen  .  .  ."  he 
lingered  on  the  word  and  for  a  moment  desperate  thoughts 
of  fifteen  years  in  the  pen  flew  through  my  head.  My 
hands  were  resting  on  the  back  of  a  chair  and  my  fingers 
gripped  the  wood  till  my  knuckles  showed  white.  I  would 
leap  for  the  window  and  jump  out  and  fall  to  the  foot  of  the 
cliff  on  my  head.  Better  death  than  fifteen  years !  But  the 
judge  said  months — "fifteen  months  to  be  served  in  the 
Juneau  Federal  Jail.  I  put  it  like  this  so  that  if  you  make 
any  more  trouble  for  us,  we  can  send  you  to  the  penitentiary 
to  serve  your  term." 

I  sat  down,  thankful  and  dazed.  The  next  case  was  called 
but  I  didn't  hear  what  was  going  on  any  longer.  I  only 
thought  of  what  I  would  do  in  those  fifteen  months.  John, 
who  was  sitting  along  side  of  me,  jabbed  me  in  the  ribs  and 


176  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

leered  a  wink  at  me.  "Fifteen  months,  Svend,"  he  whis- 
pered.   "We  get  out  on  the  same  day." 

Once  more  in  the  cage  among  the  hubbub  of  voices, 
"What  did  you  get?"  was  the  constant  question.  I  lay 
down  on  my  bunk  and  tried  to  think.  Things  had  certainly 
turned  out  better  than  I  had  dreamed.  If  I  got  my  six  days 
off  for  each  month,  which  the  law  allows  lor  good  conduct, 
then  I  would  only  have  to  serve  one  year.  I  would  be 
released  on  November  29th,  191 5.  In  the  meantime,  what 
would  I  do?  I  would  try  to  get  some  books  to  study  and 
I  could  write  down  my  experiences  on  land  and  sea.  That 
would  make  the  time  go. 

John  came  and  sat  down  on  my  bunk.  "Fifteen  months, 
Svend,"  he  said,  "Gee,  but  you  are  lucky!  What  did  you 
think  of  my  spiel  up  there?"  and  he  grinned  a  cunning, 
wicked,  joyous  grin. 

"Punk!  Damned  punk!"  I  said  with  disgust.  John  had 
a  way  of  making  a  fellow's  flesh  creep.  I  turned  my  face 
to  the  wall  as  if  to  go  to  sleep  and  he  went  away.  The 
ways  of  justice  seemed  very  strange  to  me,  but  I  thanked 
my  God  that  I  did  not  have  to  go  to  the  penitentiary.  Thus 
thinking,  I  fell  asleep,  and  woke  up  this  morning  with 
eleven  months  and  twenty-nine  days  to  do.  I  don't  know 
when  we  are  going  back  to  Juneau,  but  I  don't  think  it 
will  be  until  after  all  the  criminal  cases  have  been  tried. 
That  will  surely  be  two  weeks  or  so,  anyway. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

SERVING    MY   TERM 

Ketchikan,  Alaska. 
Dec.  7,   19 14. 

RICHARD,  the  little  Japanese,  has  been  given  a  year 
in  the  Juneau  Federal  Jail.  The  judge  said,  among 
other  things,  that  in  America  men  did  not  fight  with 
knives,  but  I'll  bet  that  if  Richard  had  used  a  gun  or  club 
or  anything  else,  he  would  have  received  the  same  dose. 
Although  the  whole  thing  is  too  bad,  I  know  that  Richard 
will  make  the  best  of  it.  He  will  study  and  learn  the 
English  language,  and  his  punishment  may  become  a  benefit 
to  him. 

Aside  from  the  three  Swedes,  who  are  scared  to  death,  I 
have  yet  to  see  a  prisoner  who  speaks  respectfully  of  the 
court  of  justice.  Justice!  These  men  don't  think  there  is 
such  a  thing  and  I,  myself,  am  beginning  to  doubt  if  this 
court  represents  justice. 


Juneau,  Alaska. 
Dec.  25,  1914. 
It  seems  like  a  long  time  since  I  have  written.  I  have 
been  here  for  about  two  weeks,  but  it  seems  more  like  two 
years  to  me.  The  weather  has  been  very  bad  outside  and 
we  have  heard  the  rain  splashing  on  the  pavement  away  out 
there  through  the  thick  windows.  The  world  outside  is 
dark  and  wet  and  cold  and  our  cage  here  in  the  cellar  is 
damp  and  gloomy,  chilly  and  monotonous.  I  have  tried  to 
write  my  experiences,  but  I  don't  seem  to  be  able  to  do  any- 
thing but  walk  around  aimlessly.  I  have  been  very  de- 
pressed the  last  few  days.    Everybody  here  has  been,  for 

177 


178  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

that  matter.  Maybe  it  is  because  it  is  Christmas  and  we 
would  all  like  to  be  with  our  friends.  Every  morning  when 
I  wake  up,  I  think  of  the  long  time  I  have  to  spend  here, 
and  that  since  yesterday,  only  one  day  has  gone  by.  I  now 
have  eleven  months  and  four  days  to  do.  It  seems  an 
eternity,  but  I  mustn't  whine  like  this,  for  the  time  will 
pass  all  right  and  I  may  yet  have  a  chance  to  build  my  home 
by  Odin's  Lake. 


Juneau,  Alaska. 
Jan.  29,  1915. 

I  am  still  here  in  the  cage  with  my  fellow  cage-men  and 
I  am  not  going  to  escape,  as  I  am  quite  adapted  to  the  life 
here.  I  have  cut  down  on  my  food,  till  now  I  only  eat  a 
few  crusts  of  bread  for  breakfast  and  very  little  at  the 
other  meals.  I  have  found  that  the  headaches  were  the 
result  of  eating  too  much  and  not  getting  enough  exercise. 

I  sit  down  most  of  the  day  now,  either  writing  or  read- 
ing. I  wrote  to  the  high  school  superintendent  here  in 
Juneau  and  asked  him  if  I  could  borrow  some  text  books. 
He  sent  me  a  whole  set  of  high  school  text  books  and  I 
study  them  every  day.  In  the  morning  after  breakfast,  I 
write  of  my  experiences  until  noon ;  then  we  have  two  slices 
of  bread  and  a  cup  of  coffee.  After  that  I  sit  down  again 
and  study  my  school  books  till  four.  Then  I  walk  around 
the  table  for  an  hour  or  so  till  the  trusties  bring  the  supper, 
and  when  we  have  eaten  and  the  floor  is  swept  and  the 
table  scrubbed,  I  sometimes  read  a  magazine  and  sometimes 
sit  around  and  talk  with  the  other  prisoners.  The  days 
pass  swiftly  that  way  and  are  gone  before  I  know  it.  Be- 
sides these  interesting  things,  we  hear  everything  that  goes 
on  in  the  courthouse.  The  trusties  come  in  the  morning 
and  sweep  the  walk  around  the  cage  and  in  an  undertone 
they  tell  everything  that  is  of  interest  to  any  one,  and 
so  we  know  all  that  goes  on.  We  are  also  allowed  to  read 
the  daily  papers,  both  morning  and  evening.  In  our  cage, 
Mike,  the  Irishman,  reads  them  aloud  so  that  we  can  get 


SERVING  MY  TERM  179 

through  with  them  quickly,  and  thus  we  keep  track  of  what 
is  going  on  outside  in  the  big  world. 

Bill,  the  old  timer  with  the  blue  eyes  and  the  long,  red 
mustaches,  is  being  tried  for  murder.  He  goes  out  to  see 
his  lawyer  every  day,  and  when  doing  so,  he  gives  his  letters 
to  him  to  mail.  I  am  going  to  send  some  of  my  letters  out 
by  that  route.  Bill  told  me  his  story  the  other  day  and 
here  it  is.  He  was  mining  with  his  pardner  up  on  Christmas 
Creek  near  Porcupine.  They  worked  and  worked  without 
any  success  and  Charlie,  his  partner,  was  the  kind  of  man 
who  was  very  pleasant  to  work  with  when  things  went  well, 
but  who  became  a  sullen  brute  when  things  went  wrong. 
He  became  worse  and  worse  as  fall  approached  and  Bill 
said  he  was  constantly  expecting  him  to  go  crazy,  the  way 
he  carried  on. 

One  morning  Bill  decided  to  go  into  Porcupine  for  the 
mail  when  Charlie  announced  that  he  was  going  to  town. 

"I  am  going,  too,"  Bill  said. 

Charlie  swore.  "I  am  going  and  that's  enough;  you 
stay  here." 

"I  am  going  for  the  mail,"  Bill  said.  "You  can  do  as 
you  please,  but  I  am  going." 

"What's  the  use  of  the  two  of  us  going?  We'll  never 
get  to  bed  rock  by  running  to  town  this  way." 

"I  am  going,  anyway,"  Bill  said  doggedly;  and  then  all 
of  a  sudden  the  other  fellow  sprang  up  and  stood  shaking 
his  fist  in  Bill's  face,  swearing  at  him  and  abusing  him 
and  threatening  to  beat  him  up. 

Bill  grabbed  a  hammer  that  was  lying  on  the  window  sill 
and  then  the  other  fellow  swore  that  he  would  kill  Bill 
"deader  than  hell,"  and  rushed  to  the  gun  rack. 

Bill  jumped  up  and  hit  him  on  the  head  with  the  hammer, 
then  leaped  past  him  and,  grabbing  his  rifle,  turned  around, 
just  as  Charlie  was  reaching  for  his  gun.  Bill  blazed  away 
from  the  hip  and  shot  the  other  fellow  through  the  head. 
Then  he  finished  dressing,  ran  down  to  Porcupine  and  gave 
himself  up. 


i8o  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

A  coroner's  just  went  up  there  later  on  and  found  that 
it  was  a  case  of  murder  in  self-defense  and  Bill  was  re- 
leased and  went  back  to  Chicago,  having  decided  to  quit 
the  north  for  good.  He  bought  himself  a  little  chicken 
ranch,  a  horse  and  a  buggy,  and  was  getting  along  fine,  when 
one  day  a  bunch  of  men  came  out  in  a  big  auto.  They 
surrounded  the  house  and  took  Bill  prisoner,  giving  him 
barely  time  to  turn  all  of  his  chickens  loose  and  open 
the  door  to  his  barn  so  his  horse  could  get  out,  before  they 
took  him  away  to  the  jail  in  Chicago.  In  Chicago  they 
kept  him  for  a  month  and  then  he  was  shipped  to  Alaska 
to  be  tried  on  the  charge  of  murdering  his  partner  on 
Christmas  Creek. 

The  doctor  who  had  examined  the  dead  man  had  been 
satisfied  at  the  time  with  the  verdict  of  the  coroner's  jury, 
but  later  he  began  to  wonder  if  the  blow  of  the  hammer 
hadn't  been  sufficient  to  knock  the  man  out,  thus  making 
the  shooting  a  cold-blooded  act  of  murder.  He  had  gone  up 
to  Christmas  Creek,  dug  up  Charlie's  body  and  found  that 
the  skull  had  been  broken  by  the  hammer  blow.  Then  he 
had  sworn  out  a  warrant  for  Bill's  arrest. 

Bill  has  a  letter  from  Charlie's  wife  in  which  she  thanks 
him  for  delivering  her  from  fifteen  years  of  slavery,  and 
by  word  of  every  one  who  knew  him,  it  was  plain  to  see 
that  Charlie  was  just  naturally  no  good.  This  doctor,  how- 
ever, seems  to  be  determined  to  see  Bill  hanged,  and  so  far 
has  been  able  to  put  up  a  strong  case  against  him.  The 
old  timer  is  not  worried,  however.  He  knows  he  is  not 
guilty  of  murder  and  he  is  sure  of  being  set  free,  at  least 
he  says  so,  but  I  must  admit  that  he  looks  pretty  agitated. 
I  guess  any  man  would  be  agitated  when  he  was  being 
tried  for  his  life,  except,  perhaps,  Ito. 

Ito  is  just  the  same  as  when  I  came,  quiet,  studious  and 
serene.  A  lady  who  lives  in  Juneau  brought  him  a  Chris- 
tian Bible  written  in  Japanese  and  he  is  very  busy  reading 
it.    He  took  an  English  Bible  that  we  have  here  in  the  cage 


SERVING  MY  TERM  i8i 

for  the  prisoners  to  read  and  showed  me  the  Proverbs  and 
said  they  were  very  good. 

Every  Sunday  morning  some  men  and  women  of  some 
sort  of  a  religious  sect  come  here  and,  sitting  out  in  the 
corridor  around  the  cage,  they  sing  to  us  and  pray  for  us. 
They  are  very  kind  people,  I  think,  to  bother  about  us  fel- 
lows in  here,  and  when  I  asked  the  leader  if  I  might  have 
one  of  their  song  books  to  sing  from  during  the  week,  she 
was  very  glad  to  let  me  have  it  and  asked  if  there  were  not 
something  else  that  I  would  like  to  have.  I  said  that  I 
would  like  to  be  free  again  and  she  said  that  if  I  asked  Him, 
I  would  not  only  be  free  to  come  and  go,  but  that  I  would 
be  free  from  the  sin  that  brought  me  here.  She  said  that 
she  would  pray  for  me  and  I  have  no  doubt  that  she  does. 

I  am  writing  down  my  experiences  in  several  stories,  be- 
ginning with  my  boyhood  when  I  first  went  to  sea  at  the 
age  of  twelve.  It  is  amazing  how  many  things  I  have  lived 
through  when  I  come  to  write  about  them.  I  start  to  put 
down  a  few  words  about  some  little  incident,  and  immed- 
iately it  unfolds  itself  and  I  write  and  write  as  I  remember 
more  and  more  of  it.  It  seems  that  I  have  experienced 
several  books  full  of  adventures;  and  who  can  tell,  some 
day  I  may  write  about  them  and  become  an  author  of  sailor 
stories. 

Some  of  the  other  prisoners  are  following  my  example, 
and  maybe  before  long  we  can  make  a  school  room  of  this 
cage.  Harry,  the  ex-soldier,  is  writing  a  book  of  his  exper- 
iences and  Richard,  who  is  with  us,  is  studying  English. 
John,  too,  is  doing  school  work  when  he  is  quiet  and  not 
cutting  up,  and  Fred  is  practicing  penmanship.  The  jailer 
is  very  well  satisfied  with  us,  and  when  visitors  and  sight- 
seers come  and  walk  about  the  cage  looking  at  us,  he  tells 
them  that  we  are  the  best  prisoners  he  has  ever  had,  which 
is  very  nice  of  him  and  encourages  us  to  further  efforts. 

Mike,  who  is  an  Atheist,  and  I  argue  a  lot  as  to  whether 
there  is  a  God  or  not.  He  was  educated  to  be  a  priest  but 
whiskey  got  the  best  of  him  and  he  was  expelled  from  the 


i82  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

college  he  was  in.  He  knows  the  Bible  from  first  to  last 
and  maintains  absolutely  that  there  is  no  God  and  proves 
it  by  picking  the  Bible  to  pieces.  I  said  the  other  day  that 
God  was  light,  truth  and  wisdom  and  that  the  more  of  those 
things  we  have  in  us,  the  more  of  God  we  can  understand, 
and  he  quoted  Ingersoll  for  half  an  hour  to  prove  that  I  was 
wrong,  and  I  came  back  at  him  by  showing  him  that  while 
Ingersoll  said  that  there  could  be  no  God,  yet  he  showed 
great  godliness  in  his  own  spirit  by  his  love  for  all  mankind 
and  the  ideals  he  championed.  Thus,  we  argue  and  I  believe 
we  both  benefit  by  it. 

Ito  believes  there  is  a  God  but  worships  him  through 
Buddha  and  he  is  so  sure  of  his  belief  that  I  feel  he  is  just 
as  right  as  the  lady  who  comes  and  prays  for  us  to  her  God. 
It  seems  to  me  it  must  be  easy  for  her  to  be  kind  and  to 
love  her  fellowmen  and  do  good  for  them,  but  for  Ito,  who 
is  sentenced  to  be  hanged,  to  be  so  kind  and  eager  to  do 
good,  it  surely  must  take  great  faith ! 


Juneau,  Alaska. 
Feb.  lo,  191 5. 

I  have  received  a  box.  A  box  from  her  1  Words  fail  to 
express  the  gratitude  I  feel.  Paper,  stamps,  books,  candy — 
that  divinity  fudge,  shades  of  all  confectioners,  but  it  was 
good!  I  divided  it  with  the  rest  of  the  prisoners  and  the 
verdict  was  unanimous.  I  don't  know  how  I  shall  ever  be 
able  to  thank  her.  Words  fail  me.  I'll  just  have  to  be  like 
a  Swede  and  say  "Oy,  oy,  oy!" 

Old  Bill  has  been  set  free.  He  was  found  not  guilty  by 
the  jury.  The  prosecutor  tried  his  best  to  have  him  con- 
victed but  he  didn't  make  it.  The  trial  took  several  days, 
and  when  his  attorney  had  completed  his  defense,  the  old 
man  asked  permission  to  speak  a  few  words  to  the  jury 
himself. 

"I  am  an  old  man,"  he  said,  "and  have  passed  the  three 
score  mark.  I  am  not  a  fool  and  I'm  in  my  right  mind  and 
I  say  that  if  I  am  guilty  of  coldbloodedly  murdering  my 


SERVING  MY  TERM  183 

partner,  I  ought  to  hang  for  it;  if  I  am  not  guilty  of  murder, 
I  want  to  go  free,  so  don't  you  bring  in  a  verdict  of  murder 
in  the  second  or  third  degree  or  something  Hke  that.  I  want 
to  either  be  hanged  or  set  free  and  it  is  up  to  you.  You 
hang  me  or  set  me  free !" 

It  seemed  that  there  was  somebody  on  that  jury  who 
wanted  to  hang  the  old  man  pretty  badly,  for  they  stayed  out 
all  night  and  until  ten  o'clock  the  next  morning,  but  they  set 
him  free. 

The  two  Japanese,  Yamashita  and  Yamaguchi,  were 
tried,  too.  The  first  was  set  free  and  the  other  got  fifteen 
years.  Yamaguchi  was  stoic  and  uncomplaining  but  the 
other  radiated  joy  and  was  all  smiles  as  they  led  him  out. 
He  came  back  the  next  day  with  bags  of  fruit  and  nuts  and 
candy  and  gave  them  to  us  who  were  left  behind  in  the 
cage. 


Juneau,  Alaska. 
March  i,  1915. 

Time  is  passing  and  I  have  only  eight  months  and  twenty- 
eight  days  to  spend  here.  I  have  some  good  news  to  put 
down.  First,  I  have  been  elected  judge  of  the  Kangaroo 
Court.  Harry  and  Carl  are  both  trusties  now,  for  they 
have  only  a  few  days  to  do.  I  think  they  are  to  be  released 
on  the  fourth  of  this  month.  Mike  was  elected  sheriff  and  I 
was  elected  judge  and  we  have  promised  to  carry  out  the 
Kangaroo  laws  to  the  letter.  The  second  news  is  that  I  am 
going  to  make  an  application  for  a  parole.  Three  of  us, 
Mike,  John  and  I  are  trying  to  get  released  on  parole.  I 
have  written  to  several  of  my  friends  to  send  in  recommen- 
dations for  me  and  I  think  that  I  will  make  a  go  of  it.  The 
jailer  says  he  would  like  to  see  me  get  out  and  I  have  great 
hopes. 

I  am  interrupted  considerably  in  my  studies  these  days, 
because  we  have  a  lot  of  new  prisoners  and  the  cage  is  full 
to  overflowing.  There  is  hardly  room  to  walk  around  the 
table  on  account  of  the  extra  bunks  that  have  been  brought 


i84  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

in.  Among  the  new  men  are  three  soldiers  who  were  trying 
to  get  out  of  the  army  by  committing  a  felony,  thus  getting 
a  dishonorable  discharge  as  soon  as  convicted.  They  gave 
whiskey  to  an  Indian  and  then  telephoned  to  the  marshal 
to  come  and  get  them. 

It  has  been  quite  a  common  thing  for  soldiers  to  go  out 
of  the  army  by  the  Juneau  route,  as  they  call  it.  Usually 
they  get  three  months  and  then  their  yellow  discharge  is 
sent  to  them.  Well,  the  three  lads  were  arrested,  brought 
to  Juneau  and  put  here  in  the  cage  and  they  were  as  happy 
as  meadow  larks.  They  told  the  jailer  and  every  one  else 
they  saw  just  why  they  had  done  it  and  they  expected  every- 
one to  sympathize  with  them.  Their  spokesman.  Jack,  said 
to  me  that  he  would  tell  the  judge  why  they  had  done  it 
and  ask  him  to  give  them  at  least  six  months  so  they  would 
be  sure  to  be  kicked  out  of  the  army.  I  told  Jack  that  I 
would  go  slow  with  the  judge,  for  he  might  not  see  the 
thing  from  their  point  of  view  and  might  give  them  a  much 
longer  sentence  than  they  would  like,  I  tried  to  make  him 
see  that  they  had  deliberately  committed  a  felony  in  order 
to  balk  established  laws  and  rules  and  that  wouldn't  appeal 
to  the  judge,  but  Jack  could  only  see  it  one  way,  and  to 
make  matters  worse,  he  wrote  a  letter  to  the  judge  and  told 
him  all  about  it  and  used  some  strong  language  about  the 
commanding  officer  at  Fort  Seward,  It  happens  that  this 
officer  is  a  close  personal  friend  of  the  judge  and  the  two  of 
them  exchanged  letters  with  the  result  that  when  the  three 
soldier  boys  were  tried  and  joyously  plead  guilty,  expecting 
the  judge  to  come  down  and  shake  hands  with  them  and  say 
that  he  would  see  that  they  got  their  discharges  as  soon  as 
possible,  the  judge  solemnly  explained  to  them  that  they  had 
committed  a  very  serious  offense,  besides  disgracing  the  uni- 
form they  wore,  that  he  would  give  each  of  them  fifteen 
months  in  jail  and  that  the  commanding  officer  had  re- 
quested that  they  should  return  to  the  post  when  the  terra 
was  over.    There  was  a  bunch  of  mad  soldiers  in  the  jail 


SERVING  MY  TERM  185 

that  night.    Here  they  would  have  to  spend  fifteen  months 
in  prison  and  then  go  back  to  the  army. 

Juneau,  Alaska. 
April  29,  191 5. 
Two  months  more  have  slipped  by  and  I  have  only  seven 
months  more  to  do.  John,  Mike  and  I  have  put  in  for  our 
paroles  and  they  are  on  the  way  to  the  board  of  paroles  in 
Washington,  D.  C.  to  be  approved  of.  We  were  taken  up 
into  the  marshal's  office  and  asked  a  lot  of  questions  and 
then  the  vote  was  taken  by  the  local  board.  I  don't  know 
what  the  result  of  the  vote  was,  but  the  jailer,  who  is  one  of 
the  board  here,  said  while  I  was  up  there,  that  I  was  one 
of  the  best  prisoners  he  had  ever  had  under  his  charge  and 
that  he  thought  I  ought  to  get  a  parole  if  any  one  did.  Yet,  I 
had  the  feeling  that  I  wouldn't  make  it.  The  chief  deputy 
asked  me  a  lot  of  questions  about  my  jail  breaking  and  I 
felt  that  he  was  very  antagonistic  toward  me.  He  is  one  of 
the  board,  too,  and  I  am  almost  certain  that  he  voted  against 
me.  Anyway,  it  won't  matter  much.  It  will  be  at  least  three 
months  before  we  hear  from  the  paroles  again. 


Juneau,  Alaska. 
May  22,  191 5. 
The  winter  has  gone  and  the  spring  has  come.  We  have 
had  several  evenings  when  the  rays  of  the  setting  sun  man- 
aged to  pierce  through  the  layers  of  screens  and  windows  to 
our  cage  here  in  the  cellar.  It  was  very  wonderful.  When 
one  sits  up  on  the  partition  to  the  bathroom,  one  can  look 
out  through  the  bars  and  screens  to  the  sun-bathed  world 
beyond.  True,  there  is  only  a  hazy  blur  of  the  mountains 
and  the  channel,  but  it  is  the  outside  just  the  same  and  very, 
very  beautiful.  Through  the  long,  dark,  rainy  days  of  the 
winter,  when  the  only  evidence  of  the  outer  world  was  the 
constant  splashing  of  rain  water  running  off  the  roof  of  the 
courthouse  to  the  pavement,  I  had  almost  forgotten  that 
there  was  such  a  world  as  that  I  have  felt  and  seen  the  last 


1 86  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

few  days.  In  the  morning  early,  before  the  din  of  the  town 
below  begins,  I  can  hear  the  birds  sing  in  the  nearby  gar- 
dens. It  is  very  faint,  but  it  is  bird  song,  nevertheless,  and 
when  all  the  windows  and  doors  are  open  once  in  a  while, 
there  comes  a  waft  of  fragrant  spring  air  filled  with  the 
freshness  and  flavor  of  growing  things. 

Some  of  the  prisoners  are  allowed  to  go  out  about  the 
courthouse  and  clean  up,  make  gardens,  and  break  rock  off 
a  cliff  that  stands  behind  the  cookhouse.  I  am  not  allowed 
to  get  out  of  the  cage,  for  they  are  still  afraid  of  me  and  I 
must  go  up  in  the  corner  when  they  open  the  door.  Of 
course  they  know  I  am  not  going  to  run  away  with  only  six 
months  to  do,  but,  nevertheless,  they  take  no  chances.  Oh, 
but  I  would  like  to  be  out  there  in  the  warm  sunshine  where 
the  green  grass  is  coming  out  of  the  earth !  I  see  the  other 
men  come  in  in  the  evening  and  I  sniff  greedily  at  the  fresh- 
ness they  bring  with  them  from  the  outdoors.  It  seems  that 
I  would  give  my  chance  to  go  to  heaven  for  just  one  little  bit 
of  outdoors,  but  it  is  not  for  me.  I  must  wait.  Next  year 
the  sun  will  shine  again  just  as  sweetly  as  it  shines  to-day, 
and  the  birds  will  sing  to  me,  and  it  will  be  very,  very  won- 
derful if  I  can  only  wait. 

Even  Ito  has  been  outside,  though  they  kept  a  guard  hand- 
cuffed to  him  all  the  time.  His  hanging  has  been  postponed 
till  some  time  in  December  and  he  is  very  happy.  He  trusts 
in  his  God  to  save  him.  He  is  innocent  of  the  thing  they 
have  sentenced  him  for,  he  says,  and  God  will  not  let  him 
be  hanged  as  long  as  he  keeps  his  faith.  I  believe  that  he 
is  right  about  it,  though  I  don't  know  just  why,  for  I 
haven't  a  thing  to  base  my  convictions  on.  I  would  ask  him 
to  tell  me  his  story  but,  somehow,  I  feel  that  it  would  be 
indiscreet  and  I  am  afraid  I  shall  never  know  it. 

John  has  got  religion.  He  has  joined  the  mission  folk 
that  come  here  and  sing  on  Sundays  and  he  is  to  be  made  a 
trusty  very  soon  on  the  strength  of  it.  I  have  a  suspicion, 
however,  that  John's  religion  is  not  very  deep  rooted.  He 
is  a  pretty  shrewd  character;  since  he  wanted  to  be  a  trusty, 


SERVING  MY  TERM  "  187 

he  took  the  shortest  route.  He  testifies  every  Sunday  as  to 
how  he  got  salvation,  but  there  is  an  amused  twinkle  in  his 
eyes  when  he  weeps  for  us  poor  sinners  in  here,  steeped  in 
sin  and  ungodliness  and  I  am  constantly  afraid  that  he  will 
burst  out  laughing  in  the  middle  of  a  prayer  for  us.  How- 
ever, I  may  be  mistaken,  maybe  it's  the  real  thing  after  all. 

Juneau,  Alaska. 
June  25,  1915. 

I  have  changed  my  residence.  No,  not  a  parole,  but  I've 
been  moved  to  the  large  cage  and  that  is  a  step  upward  in 
society.  Before  I  was  a  dangerous  prisoner,  now  I  am  a 
short-timer  but  not  yet  quite  safe.  I  am  not  yet  allowed 
outside  but  in  this  cage  there  are  many  windows  only  a  few 
feet  from  the  bars  and  plenty  of  light  and  air  come  through 
them.  The  men  here  are  a  motley  crowd.  It  would  take  too 
long  to  describe  them  all  and  what  they  are  in  for,  so  I 
won't  attempt  it. 

Ito  told  me  his  story  before  I  left  the  other  cage.  I 
would  like  to  write  it  just  as  he  told  it,  dialect,  quaint  little 
phrases  and  all,  but  I  am  afraid  I  cannot  do  it  justice  and 
I'll  have  to  tell  it  in  my  own  words. 

He  was  foreman  at  the  Dundas  Bay  cannery.  Under  the 
Chinese  contract  system  the  contractor  agrees  to  supply  so 
many  men  for  a  given  sum.  Then  the  foreman  has  to  be 
very  strict  as  it  is  his  vital  business  to  keep  the  men  at  work 
and  if  he  allows  one  of  the  men  to  quit  the  camp,  run  away 
or  die,  the  foreman  loses  fifty  dollars  of  his  pay.  These  can- 
nery hands  are  the  roughest  and  most  ignorant  of  Chinese 
and  Japanese  coolies,  and  the  foremen  have  to  use  stringent 
measures  to  keep  the  men  from  breaking  their  contracts. 

It  has  been  charged  that  Ito  kept  the  doors  to  the  bunk- 
house  closed  at  night  at  all  times,  but  Ito  said  that  he  had 
only  kept  it  locked  when  some  one  was  suspected  of  wanting 
to  run  away.  "I  had  to,  then,  to  protection  myself,"  he  said 
in  his  quaint  way. 

This  man,  Dunn,  who  was  killed,  had  signed  a  contract 


i88  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

with  the  big  boss  contractor  in  Seattle  and  had  drawn  about 
forty  dollars  in  advance.  Being  foreman  of  the  crew  Dunn 
belonged  to,  Ito  had  to  take  the  note  of  debt  from  the  big 
boss.  Later,  Dunn  bought  goods  in  the  cannery  store  and 
Ito  also  had  to  stand  good  for  that  debt.  Then,  when  Dunn 
found  that  the  work  in  the  cannery  was  not  to  his  liking,  he 
threatened  to  run  away.  Had  he  done  this,  Ito  would  have 
been  out  about  a  hundred  dollars.  This,  of  course,  Ito  could 
not  afford,  and  when  Dunn  threatened  to  leave  the  cannery, 
he  took  the  measures  to  prevent  his  going  that  are  commonly 
taken  by  the  foremen  in  the  Alaskan  canneries  that  work 
under  the  Chinese  contract  system.  He  had  Dunn  watched 
during  the  day  and  had  the  door  to  the  bunk  house  locked 
during  the  night  and  this  he  intended  to  do  until  Dunn  had 
at  least  earned  the  money  he  owed,  Dunn  spoke  freely 
about  trying  to  get  away,  and  said  that  he  didn't  give  a 
damn  about  any  Chinese  contract. 

About  a  week  before  the  trouble,  Dunn  stayed  in  his  bunk 
one  day  and  told  Ito  that  he  had  quit  his  job.  The  foreman 
told  him  that  if  he  was  sick  and  could  not  work ;  if  he  had 
trouble  at  home ;  if  his  father  or  mother  was  sick  or  dead, 
he  could  give  him  leave  and  let  him  go  any  time.  "I  tired 
all  time  trouble,"  Ito  said.  But  if  he  was  just  anxious  to 
quit,  the  Chinese  contract  made  it  impossible  for  him  to 
let  him  go.  Then  Dunn  said  that  if  he  would  only  give 
him  some  whiskey,  he  would  go  back  to  work,  but  Ito  had 
no  whiskey  to  give  him  and  Dunn,  after  threatening  violence 
and  protesting  that  he  was  an  American  citizen,  free  to  come 
and  go  as  he  pleased,  had  finally  gone  back  to  work. 

The  night  the  trouble  occurred,  many  fishermen  were 
coming  and  going  to  and  from  the  cannery.  Dunn  stayed 
on  the  beach  most  of  the  day,  helping  the  fishermen  to  get 
gasoline,  and  Ito  saw  him  enter  the  bunkhouse  about  twelve 
o'clock  that  night.  He  thought  it  would  be  a  good  idea  to 
lock  the  bunk  house  door  for  the  night  and  he  sent  Fushima, 
a  Japanese  boy,  over  to  attend  to  it.  Then  Nakayama,  who 
slept  in  Ito's  house,  came  home  and  the  foreman  told  him 


SERVING  MY  TERM  189 

to  go  to  the  bunk  house  and  watch.  When  Nakayama  got 
over  there,  Ito  said  he  heard  a  big  noise  and  much  talking 
and  angry  tones.  He  grabbed  a  cane  he  had,  a  sword  cane 
that  a  friend  of  his  had  given  him  a  long  time  ago,  and 
ran  to  the  bunk  house  to  quell  the  fight.  When  he  came 
to  the  scene,  Dunn  was  alone  on  the  platform  of  the  bunk- 
house,  having  knocked  both  Fushima  and  Nakayama  off  to 
the  beach,  six  feet  below. 

"What's  the  matter  with  you?"  Ito  demanded  as  he 
climbed  the  steps  to  the  platform  where  Dunn  stood,  swear- 
ing at  him,  urging  him  to  come  on  and  calling  him  all  sorts 
of  names.  Ito  raised  his  cane  to  strike  the  obstinate  fellow, 
but  Dunn  grabbed  the  cane  with  one  hand  and  struck  the 
foreman  in  the  eye  with  the  other  and  sent  him  tumbling 
backward  from  the  platform.  The  pull  on  the  cane  had 
unsheathed  the  sword  and  when  Dunn,  also,  lost  his  balance 
and  fell  off  the  platform  on  top  of  Ito,  he  struck  on  the 
point  of  the  weapon  and  was  pierced  from  the  right  shoulder 
to  the  left  side,  right  through  the  heart. 

Ito  said  that  then  his  mind  had  become  dead  from  the  fall 
and  that  he  didn't  know  that  the  lad  had  been  killed.  He 
had  pulled  the  sword  toward  him,  thinking  that  it  felt  very 
heavy  and  wondering  if  he  had  cut  the  boy.  He  was  still 
very  excited  and  had  rushed  up  the  ladder,  his  sword  in  one 
hand  and  his  revolver  in  the  other,  to  lock  up  some  Mexi- 
cans who  were  throwing  tin  cans  and  bottles  at  him.  His 
pistol  went  off  without  his  knowing  it  and  hit  a  Japanese 
boy,  "a  good  boy,"  Ito  said,  in  the  breast  but  did  not  kill 
him.  The  foreman  did  not  know  this  until  the  next  day. 
He  ran  to  the  superintendent's  house,  met  the  superinten- 
dent when  half  way  there  and,  turning  the  sword  over  to 
him,  told  him  what  had  happened  as  well  as  he  knew. 

Ito  went  back  to  his  own  house  and  it  was  not  until  morn- 
ing that  he  learned  the  man  had  been  killed.  Then  he  im- 
mediately went  to  the  superintendent  and  asked  leave  to  go 
to  Juneau  with  an  interpreter  to  explain  to  the  authorities 
about  it.    The  superintendent  said  that  there  were  no  boats 


I90  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

going  and  that  Ito  had  better  wait  until  the  marshal  came. 

It  was  three  days  before  he  came  and  took  Ito  to  jail 
with  him.  Had  Ito  wanted  to,  he  could  have  escaped  a 
dozen  times,  but  he  did  not  feel  that  he  had  committed  any 
wrong  but  had  merely  carried  out  his  duty  according  to  the 
contract  he  was  under.      He  had  no  urge  to  escape. 

During  the  trial  the  Mexicans  testified  that  they  had  seen 
Nakayama  and  Fushima  hold  Dunn  while  Ito  stuck  the 
sword  into  him.  Race  hatred  had  run  high  at  the  time.  A 
Japanese  had  killed  a  white  boy  and  a  white  jury  found 
him  guilty  of  murder  in  the  first  degree  and  he  had  been 
sentenced  to  be  hanged.  Fushima  had  been  tried  and  had 
been  given  twenty  years  but  when  they  got  to  trying  Naka- 
yama, there  had  been  so  much  contradiction  going  on  among 
the  imaginative  Mexican  witnesses  that  the  prosecution  had 
been  hopelessly  tangled  up  and  had  dropped  the  case 
against  Nakayama.  During  Ito's  trial,  however,  the  Mexi- 
cans had  been  unanimous  enough  and  the  Court  of  Appeals 
had  not  been  able  to  find  a  flaw  in  the  trial,  so  Ito  had  been 
denied  a  new  trial.  The  United  States  Supreme  Court  also 
made  the  same  ruling  and  there  is  now  no  hope  left  for  Ito, 
except  a  pardon  from  the  President 


Juneau,  Alaska. 
July  29,  191 5. 
I  have  only  four  more  months  to  stay  here.  Somehow, 
I  cannot  imagine  how  it  will  feel  to  be  a  free  man  again, 
and  sometimes  I  have  a  panicky  dread  that  when  the  time 
comes,  they  won't  let  me  go.  They  let  me  out  to  work  about 
a  week  ago.  I  had  to  give  my  word  of  honor  that  I 
wouldn't  try  to  escape.  Of  course,  I  gave  them  that  and 
they  let  me  out  through  the  long  corridor,  the  one  down 
which  I  had  once  escaped.  I  had  a  slight  thrill  when  I 
thought  about  it,  but  I  saw  my  own  reflection  in  a  window 
and  forgot  everything  else.  I  was  as  skinny  as  a  scarecrow, 
gaunt  and  bony,  and  my  clothes  hung  on  me.  Of  course  I 
knew  that  I  had  become  thin  but  I  didn't  realize  to  what  an 


SERVING  MY  TERM  191 

extent  until  I  had  seen  myself  in  the  windowpane.  In  the 
store  room  I  found  that  I  weighed  only  one  hundred  and 
fifty  pounds,  whereas  I  used  to  weigh  two  hundred.  If  I 
stayed  another  year  in  a  cage,  I'd  be  nothing  but  a  shadow. 

When  I  stepped  out  of  the  building  into  the  sunshine, 
I  became  so  dizzy  that  I  reeled  and  had  to  hold  onto  the 
side  of  the  cook  house.  It  was  quite  a  while  before  I  was 
strong  enough  to  go  about  unconcernedly.  I  was  to  break 
rocks  and  take  them  to  the  edge  of  the  cliff  where  two  of 
the  other  prisoners  were  building  a  wall,  but  I  did  not  do 
very  much  the  first  two  days.  I  used  to  think  while  I  was 
in  the  cage,  that  I  was  almost  as  strong  as  I  ever  had  been, 
but  I  am  not.  If  they  hadn't  let  me  out  before  my  time 
was  up,  I  wouldn't  have  been  worth  a  cent  to  any  employer 
but  now,  if  I  can  work  outside  almost  every  day,  I  shall  be 
pretty  skookum  when  I  am  released. 

Mike  has  received  his  parole  and  is  working  in  one  of  the 
mines  near  here.  The  jailer  said  that  his  was  the  only 
parole  that  had  come  back  so  far  but  that  they  expected 
John's  and  mine  any  time  now.  One  of  the  trusties  who 
cleans  out  the  marshal's  office,  told  me  that  he  had  seen 
all  three  of  them  and  that  John's  and  mine  had  been  refused. 

I  have  some  other  good  news  to  relate.  I  have  found  a 
means  of  making  money  here.  They  let  me  have  a  knife 
during  the  daytime  and  I  make  small  models  of  ships  and 
put  them  into  bottles.  I  sell  them  for  one  dollar  up  to  five 
dollars  apiece,  according  to  what  I  think  I  can  get.  They 
are  worth  five  dollars,  all  right,  for  it  takes  two  days  of 
hard  work  to  make  one,  but  I  rarely  get  more  than  a  dollar 
or  two  for  one.  I  have  already  made  thirteen  dollars  that 
way  and  now  I  am  making  a  big  boat  for  the  cook.  It  will 
be  two  feet  long  and  have  everything  on  it  that  a  brigan- 
tine  has,  from  anchor  winch  to  sails  and  running  gear.  The 
cook  will  pay  me  ten  dollars  for  it  and  I  figure  it  will  take 
my  spare  time  for  two  weeks  to  finish  it.  Of  course,  I 
am  neglecting  my  writing  to  do  this  but  I  feel  that  it  is  more 


192  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

important  that  I  should  have  some  money,  so  that  I  shall 
not  be  penniless  when  I  get  out. 

The  missionary  from  Klukwan  was  here  to  see  me  the 
other  day.  He  was  very  kind  and  insisted  that  I  accept 
some  money  from  him  as  a  loan  till  I  get  on  my  feet  again 
financially.  If  every  prisoner  had  a  friend  like  that  mission- 
ary, there  would  be  mighty  few  of  them  going  back  to  jail 
again. 


Juneau,  Alaska. 
Aug.  21,  191 5. 

I  have  been  elected  judge  of  the  Kangaroo  Court  here  in 
the  big  cage.  In  an  election  where  six  men  were  candidates, 
I  was  chosen  judge  by  a  good  plurality.  We  hold  court  al- 
most every  day,  so  it  keeps  me  pretty  busy.  I  get  two  dol- 
lars a  week  out  of  the  Kangaroo  funds  for  doing  this,  so 
you  see,  my  little  fortune  is  constantly  growing.  I  now  have 
to  my  credit  forty-three  dollars  and  money  is  continually 
coming  in.  The  cook  liked  the  ship  I  made  for  her  so  well 
that  she  gave  me  fifteen  dollars  for  it  instead  of  ten.  She 
said  that  I  needed  it  more  than  she  did  and  insisted  that  it 
was  worth  fifteen  dollars. 

I  haven't  written  anything  on  my  stories  for  the  last 
month  or  so,  and  I'm  afraid  I'll  not  be  able  to  write  any 
more  while  I  am  in  jail.  Since  Mike  has  been  out,  I  have 
been  reading  the  paper  aloud  to  the  other  prisoners.  I  am 
not  as  good  a  reader  as  Mike  but  I  am  improving  all  the 
time  and  it  helps  my  English  very  much. 

We  had  a  fellow  here  by  the  name  of  O'Reilly.  He  was 
a  short,  stocky  fellow  with  glaring  brown  eyes  set  wide 
apart  under  a  protruding  forehead.  His  bulky  looking  head 
was  covered  with  a  curly  growth  of  brown  hair.  It  made 
OHe  think  of  a  buffalo  and  he  had  a  way  of  leaning  forward 
and  wagging  his  head  from  side  to  side  as  he  walked  up  and 
down  the  cage,  that  heightened  the  impression.  There  were 
several  charges  against  him  and  everybody  was  sure  that 


SERVING  MY  TERM  193 

he  would  be  sent  to  the  penitentiary  for  a  couple  of  years 
anyway. 

One  day  a  fellow  they  call  Red  said  to  him,  "By  George, 
O'Reilly,  I'll  be  jiggered  if  you  don't  look  crazy.  They 
ought  to  send  you  to  Momingside  instead  of  to  the  pen." 

Red's  words  evidently  gave  O'Reilly  a  new  idea,  for  we 
soon  noticed  that  he  began  talking  and  acting  mighty  queer. 
One  night  after  everybody  had  gone  to  bed,  he  jumped  out 
and,  pulling  his  bedding  onto  the  floor,  began  sweeping  it 
frantically  with  a  broom.  He  turned  over  one  of  the 
benches  in  doing  it  and  the  guards  came  rushing  in  to  see 
what  was  the  matter.  O'Reilly  kept  on  sweeping,  yelling 
to  them  that  his  bed  was  full  of  bugs  and  that  they  were 
eating  his  legs  off.  After  a  while  when  he  had  satisfied 
himself  that  there  were  no  more  bugs  on  his  mattress  and 
blankets,  he  made  up  his  bed  and  went  to  sleep.  Naturally, 
the  rest  of  the  prisoners  shunned  him  the  next  day,  for  they 
had  no  doubt  now  about  his  being  insane.  I  had  an  audience 
with  the  jailer  and  told  him  of  the  various  eccentricities  I 
had  noticed  and  the  jailer  told  me  to  keep  a  watch  on  him 
and  report  ever)rthing. 

The  next  morning  O'Reilly  got  up  long  before  any  one 
else  and,  taking  all  the  shoes,  placed  them  in  a  long  column 
on  the  floor,  four  abreast  with  some  on  the  sides  and  in 
front.  I  was  watching  him  from  my  bunk  and  when  he  got 
them  all  in  ranks  like  an  army,  he  let  out  an  unearthly  yell 
that  made  all  the  men  fairly  jump  from  their  bunks,  and 
he  began  to  curse  and  swear  at  the  shoes  on  the  floor.  He 
gave  the  command  to  advance  and  when  they  didn't  move, 
he  called  them  cowardly  curs  and  cursed  and  swore  and 
damned  them  till  he  frothed  at  the  mouth  from  rage.  In  a 
short  time  he  collapsed  on  the  concrete  floor  completely 
worn  out.  All  the  while  the  other  prisoners  were  looking 
on,  dreading  his  next  move.  When  he  fell  down,  I  jumped 
out  of  bed  and  called  a  couple  of  them  and  we  packed 
O'Reilly  to  his  bunk  and  put  him  in. 

The  jailer  told  me  that  morning  to  get  ready  to  go  to 


194  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

court  and  to  get  O'Reilly  ready,  too,  as  he  was  to  be  tried 
for  insanity.  When  at  eleven  the  turnkey  opened  the  door, 
O'Reilly  and  I  went  upstairs  to  the  commissioner's  court.  I 
was  sworn  in  as  a  witness  against  him  and  on  the  stand  told 
what  I  had  seen.  Then  two  doctors  examined  and  cross 
examined  him  and  O'Reilly  told  quite  rationally  and  sanely 
that  he  had  been  a  commission  merchant  in  Chicago  and  had 
had  a  good  business  there.  Then  he  turned  to  the  jailer 
who  was  sitting  next  to  him  and  glared  at  him,  his  eyes 
bulging  from  their  sockets. 

"That's  the  fellow  who's  to  blame  for  my  failure,"  he 
yelled,  and  the  jailer  got  up  and  moved  away  four  seats. 
"He  was  the  food  commissioner  there.  I  know  him,  his 
name  is  Murphy.  He  was  one  of  Hinky  Dink's  gang. 
That's  how  he  got  his  job.  But  he  didn't  last  long.  He's  a 
crook.  I  know  him.  He  threw  four  carloads  of  oranges  in 
the  river  on  me.  But  he  didn't  last  long.  He  was  too 
crooked  even  for  Hinky  Dink." 

After  this,  O'Reilly  collapsed  in  his  chair,  and  after  the 
doctors  had  made  a  few  futile  attempts  to  get  him  to  answer 
them  again,  the  commissioner  sent  the  jury  out  and  O'Reilly 
and  I  were  sent  back  down  to  the  cage.  They  took  him 
away  the  next  day  and  yesterday  we  learned  that  he  had 
escaped  from  the  insane  asylum  the  second  day  he  was 
there. 


Juneau,  Alaska. 
Sept.  28,  1 91 5. 
Time  is  beginning  to  go  more  and  more  slowly.  It  seems 
that  I  shall  never  get  out  of  here.  Each  day  drags  along 
when  they  don't  let  me  go  out  to  work  and  there  is  an  eter- 
nity between  rising  time  and  going  to  bed  time.  Luckily,  I 
can  sleep  well.  Some  of  the  men  can't  sleep  and  they  lie 
and  plan  all  sorts  of  things  nights.  There  is  one  man,  for 
example,  who  told  me  that  he  had  found  a  way  to  make 
lots  of  money.  His  plan  was  illegitimate,  of  course,  and 
when   I   asked  him  why   he  wouldn't  try  something  he 


SERVING  MY  TERM  195 

wouldn't  get  in  jail  for,  he  spilled  a  quaint  bit  of  psychology. 
He  said  that  he  had  to  get  even  with  them  for  this  lost  time 
and  opportunity. 

"I'm  not  lying  awake  nights  in  this  hole  for  nothing,"  he 
said,  and  looked  menacingly  around  the  cage. 

There  is  another  queer  case  here.  He  is  a  Roumanian 
and  his  name  is  Oniga.  He  was  pinched  for  giving  whiskey 
to  Indians,  and  tried,  but  for  some  reason  the  judge  let  hini 
off  with  a  lecture  and  gave  him  five  dollars  to  start  life  on 
anew.  Oniga  is  an  old  man  not  endowed  with  too  much 
intelligence.  As  soon  as  he  got  out,  he  invested  his  five 
dollars  in  twenty-five  cent  bottles  of  whiskey,  went  down 
into  Indian  town  and  began  selling  them  right  and  left.  Of 
course  he  was  arrested  and  put  in  here  with  us  again.  He 
is  sure  he  will  get  at  least  twenty  dollars  this  time  and  I 
cannot  tell  him  an3rthing  else.  It  is  much  easier  than  to 
work,  he  says,  and  he  has  it  all  figured  out  that  he  can 
double  his  money  next  time  before  they  can  catch  him  at  it 
and  he  is  sorry  that  he  didn't  know  about  this  when  he  first 
came  to  this  strange  country  two  years  ago.  He  would 
have  been  rich  now  but  he  hopes  to  soon  have  enough  to  go 
back  to  Roumania  on  the  strength  of  this  new  business. 

I  read  an  article  in  a  magazine  the  other  day  about  the 
penitentiaries  in  Switzerland.  The  prisons  there  are  small 
republics  in  themselves.  Every  prisoner  is  allowed  to 
choose  a  kind  of  labor  to  do  while  there  and  he  needs  to 
spend  only  a  few  hours  a  day  working  if  he  wishes  to  study. 
They  employ  some  of  the  best  teachers  in  the  land  and  sup- 
port themselves  and  their  school  wholly  by  their  own  labor. 
Of  course  there  are  state  officials  there  to  overlook  things 
but  the  prisoners  are  practically  self  governing.  As  I  under- 
stand it,  the  theory  followed  is  that  the  cure  for  a  lack  of 
social  conscience  is  cooperative  living  and  ideal  conditions. 
When  a  man  is  released  from  a  Swiss  penitentiary,  he  has 
an  education  if  he  has  cared  to  get  it,  and  has  been  taught 
to  be  a  member  of  society. 

As  a  consequence  only  three  per  cent  go  back  for  a  second 


196  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

term.  In  this  country  over  seventy  per  cent  return  for  a 
second  term  and  many  for  a  third  or  a  fourth,  some  of  them 
spending  practically  all  their  lives  in  prison.  I  started  an 
argimient  with  some  of  the  men  on  the  subject  and  one  of 
them  said  that  that  was  a  hell  of  a  place.  Why,  everybody 
would  go  to  jail  if  it  was  so  pleasant  and  would  never  care 
to  get  out.  It  seems  to  me  that  if  all  the  ignorant  men  broke 
in  and  got  an  education,  it  would  be  the  best  thing  that  could 
happen  to  any  nation. 

I  have  been  wondering  if  any  one  has  staked  the  home- 
stead around  Odin's  Lake  yet.  My  chief  thought  these  days 
is  to  make  a  home  for  myself,  and  if  they  let  me  out  in 
November,  I  intend  to  work  here  in  the  mines  this  winter, 
then  to  go  up  to  Haines  in  the  Spring,  and  if  Odin's  Lake 
is  still  free,  I  shall  claim  it  for  my  own. 


Juneau,  Alaska. 
Oct.  23,  1915. 

The  pendulum  of  my  progress  has  swung  back  and  I  am 
locked  in  the  dark  cell  cage  with  the  bad  men,  a  dangerous 
prisoner.  It  is  very  discouraging.  The  chief  deputy  quit 
his  job  to  work  in  a  bank  and  a  new  man  took  his  place. 
This  man  is  a  crank  on  authority.  He  wanted  to  show  his 
power  so  he  came  down  the  first  day  and  inspected  the  jail. 
It  happened  that  I  was  reading  the  paper  when  he  came 
down  and  he  saw  the  prisoners  there  clustered  about  me. 
For  some  reason  which  I  cannot  fathom,  it  displeased  him 
and  he  ordered  us  to  hand  out  the  paper  and  told  the 
guards  not  to  let  us  have  it  any  more.  Naturally,  this  peeved 
me — it  was  such  a  little  thing  to  do — and  I  said  that  I  had 
been  there  a  year  and  we  had  always  had  the  paper  before. 
He  answered  me  very  curtly,  telling  me  not  to  give  him  any 
of  my  lip,  that  he  was  running  this  jail.  I  said  no  more  and 
walked  up  and  down  in  the  cage  singing  quietly  to  myself. 

"Cut  out  that  singing,"  he  commanded. 

"Certainly,"  I  said  and  smiled  at  him. 


SERVING  MY  TERM  197 

I  didn't  like  him  but  I  had  only  forty  days  to  do  and  he 
was  in  a  position  to  make  me  serve  three  months  longer. 

Naturally,  the  prisoners  all  were  sore  and  the  cage  was  a 
hubbub  all  day,  the  men  standing  around  in  clusters  talking 
about  it  and  expressing  their  opinion  of  the  new  chief 
deputy.  That  evening  when  the  other  shift  of  guards  was 
on  duty  and  the  evening  paper  came,  they  handed  it  in  as 
usual  and  I  began  reading.  Pretty  soon  the  chief  deputy 
came  down  and  bawled  out  both  us  and  the  guards,  threat- 
ening to  have  me  put  in  the  dark  cell  and  forbidding  the 
guards  ever  to  let  us  have  the  paper  again. 

The  next  day  I  got  orders  to  get  my  things  together,  as  I 
was  to  be  removed  to  the  cell  cage  again  for  stirring  up 
trouble  among  the  prisoners.  I  am  worried,  too,  for  I  am 
very  much  afraid  that  they  won't  let  me  out  when  my  time 
is  up.  But  I  mustn't  think  about  that,  it  is  too  dreadful. 
I  have  only  thirty-six  days  to  do  but  that  is  a  long  time  to 
wait  with  nothing  to  do  except  worry.  I  am  not  allowed 
to  work  on  my  ships  in  here  and  I  am  too  worried  to  settle 
down  to  writing  on  my  story  or  reading. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

A  CAVE-DOWN  IN  THE  MINE 

Juneau,  Alaska. 
Nov.  30,  191 5. 

I  HAVEN'T  written  at  all  this  last  month.  I  was  so  mis- 
erable that  I  could  only  have  written  about  my  troubles 
and  that  was  not  worth  while.  It  was  enough  that  I 
should  be  miserable  without  putting  it  into  black  and  white. 
But  the  days  dragged  by  and  finally  came  my  last  day  in  jail. 

That  was  a  long  day  for  me.  I  thought  it  would  never 
end.  I  lay  awake  most  of  the  night  thinking  of  the  great 
event  that  was  to  come  to  pass  the  next  day.  I  was  to  be 
free  once  again.  Free,  and  with  no  fear  of  being  caught. 
I  would  have  served  my  time  and  my  trouble  would  be 
wholly  over. 

The  morning  came  and  I  packed  my  things  in  my  war  bag 
and  said  good-by  to  my  fellow  prisoners  who  were  to  be 
left  behind  there  in  the  cage.  The  jailer  came  and  the  cage 
opened  and  the  heavy  door  banged  behind  me  with  the  rattle 
of  bolts  ^nd  locks  for  the  last  time.  It  sent  a  shiver  through 
me  and  I  promised  myself  never  to  do  anything  again  that 
they  could  put  me  in  a  cage  for.  The  jailer  gave  me  my 
money  and  then  he  and  I  and  John,  who  was  also  being  re- 
leased, went  down  to  a  store  to  get  out  twelve  and  a  half 
dollar's  worth  of  clothes.  John  bought  shirts  and  ties  and 
I  bought  a  pair  of  eleven  dollar  working  boots  and  five  pairs 
of  socks.  Then  I  said  good-by  to  the  jailer  and  walked 
down  the  street,  my  war  bag  on  my  shoulder,  a  free  man 
looking  for  a  place  to  room. 

I  thought  I  would  feel  very  exalted  and  joyous  when  I 
was  free  but  I  was  only  fairly  happy,  though  I  felt  more  at 

198 


A  CAVE-DOWN  IN  THE  MINE      199 

home  in  my  place  there  on  the  street  among  the  other  people 
than  I  had  ever  felt  in  the  cellar  under  the  courthouse.  I 
thought  I  would  feel  like  a  cage  man  set  free ;  instead  I  felt 
like  a  free  man  who  had  been  in  the  cage  and  had  come  to 
his  own  once  again.  I  longed  for  the  woods  and  the 
mountains,  so  I  put  on  my  new  boots,  as  soon  as  I  had 
established  myself  in  a  room,  and  hiked  out  of  town  on  the 
Salmon  Creek  road.  There  was  a  foot  of  snow  on  the 
ground  and  it  was  cold  but  the  sun  shone  and  the  fiord  was 
blue  in  contrast  to  the  white  shore  and  the  deep  green  spruce 
woods  and  I  was  very,  very  happy  with  it  all.  I  walked 
all  day  and  did  not  come  back  to  town  until  long  after  dark, 
very  tired  and  very  hungry.  I  had  a  big  meal  in  a  restau- 
rant and  went  to  bed,  sleeping  the  sleep  of  the  just. 

This  morning,  after  I  had  eaten  my  breakfast,  I  decided 
to  bring  my  diary  up  to  date  and  it  has  taken  me  all  the 
forenoon.  I  am  going  up  to  the  mines  this  afternoon  to  try 
to  get  a  job.       n 


St.  Anne's  Hospital. 

Juneau,  Alaska. 

Dec.  8,  1915. 

There  was  an  epidemic  of  La  Grippe  here  and,  naturally, 
being  exposed  to  the  raw  winter  weather  after  spending  a 
year,  in  a  cellar,  I  caught  it. 

My  friend,  Mike,  who  got  a  parole,  has  worked  himself 
up  into  quite  a  high  position  in  the  Perseverance  Mine.  He 
takes  care  of  the  hospital  in  the  mine  and  has  charge  of  the 
hardware  department  on  the  side.  When  I  came  up,  he 
spoke  to  the  foreman  in  my  behalf  and  I  got  a  job  as  a 
mucker.  I  was  given  a  brass  tag  and  told  to  report  to  Jim 
Dolan,  the  shift  boss  on  9  East. 

I  had  no  idea  who  Dolan  was  nor  where  9  East  was  but 
I  followed  the  crowd  that  was  going  on  the  night  shift,  got 
my  dinner  pail  from  the  bucket  man  at  the  end  of  the  great 
dining  hall  like  the  rest  of  the  men,  and  went  along  among 


200  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

them  in  through  the  shops  to  a  long  tunnel  that  went  into 
the  mountain, 

I  felt  decidedly  queer  as  I  got  further  in.  From  the  com- 
pressed air  pipes  along  the  sides  there  came  a  noise  that 
sounded  like  gnomes  hammering  away  deep  in  the  earth. 
The  pressure  of  the  air  around  me  began  to  make  my  ears 
pulse  and  I  expected  my  ear  drums  to  burst  long  before  I 
reached  the  mine.  This  tunnel  was  at  least  a  mile  long  and 
led  to  a  great  hollow  or  rather  a  cave.  This  was  called  a 
station  and  a  shaft  ran  through  from  away  up  to  away 
down  below  it.  Electric  lights  everywhere  made  it  almost 
as  light  as  day,  which  lessened  the  uncanniness  of  it.  An 
elevator  came  gliding  down  the  shaft  and  stopped.  I  was 
told  by  a  short,  fat  man  to  step  back  and  wait  till  the  last 
cage.  I  didn't  know  what  the  last  cage  was  but  I  supposed 
he  meant  the  elevator  and  I  stepped  back  away  from  the 
crowd  that  surged  toward  the  elevator,  scrambling  to  get  in 
every  time  it  came,  jamming  it  full  like  herring  in  a  barrel 
till  the  station  tender  could  hardly  pull  the  door  shut.  The 
first  ones  went  to  the  five  hundred  level,  then  came  the  six 
hundred  level  men,  and  so  on  till  all  the  nine  hundred  level 
men  had  gone  up  and  there  were  only  five  men  left  with  me 
in  the  station.  The  fat  man  motioned  to  the  rest  of  us  the 
next  time  the  cage  came  and  we  all  stepped  in  and  were 
jerked  up  a  short  distance  and  then  let  out  in  a  place  very 
similar  to  the  one  we  had  left.    It  was  the  station  on  9. 

The  fat  man,  who  was  Jim  Dolan,  our  boss,  led  us  through 
a  long  tunnel  from  which  many  ladders  ran  up  through  dark 
holes  in  the  sides.  At  one  place  the  boss  took  two  of  the 
men  up  a  ladder  and  told  the  rest  of  us  to  wait  below  till  he 
came  down.  Here  and  there  from  far  off  in  the  rock  came 
rattling  noises  like  woodpeckers  boring  in  dry  logs.  Then 
there  came  a  dull  pop  from  somewhere  and  the  heavy  air 
in  the  tunnel  vibrated  and  pulsed  in  my  ears.  They  were 
blasting  somewhere  in  the  mine.  After  a  long  time  the 
boss  came  back  down  the  ladder  and  motioned  for  us  to 
follow  him.    He  took  us  to  another  ladder  up  through  a 


A  CAVE-DOWN  IN  THE  MINE      201 

narrow  hole  just  big  enough  to  climb  through  without  touch- 
ing the  rocky  walls  which  were  dripping  wet.  It  ended  in 
a  low  tunnel  where  we  had  to  bend  our  heads  to  walk,  A 
lot  of  dinner  pails  were  standing  around  and  the  boss  mo- 
tioned for  us  to  put  ours  down,  too.  Then  we  crawled  down 
another  ladder  to  a  great  cave  below  us.  This  was  a  stope 
and  a  dozen  or  more  machine  drills  were  rattling  away  mak- 
ing a  deafening  roar.  The  fellow  who  was  with  me  was 
put  to  work  helping  a  machine  man,  and  I  was  put  to  work 
shoveling  rock  away  from  the  entrance  to  the  cave  through 
which  we  had  had  to  crawl  on  our  hands  and  knees.  Then 
the  boss  left  us  and  that  was  the  last  we  saw  of  him  that 
night.  I  had  a  terrible  headache  and  was  sick  from  the 
thick,  gassy  air  that  I  breathed.  I  thought  I  could  work  it 
off  so  I  shoveled  as  hard  as  I  could  and  sweated  a  lot  but 
my  headache  only  became  worse.  Finally,  one  by  one,  the 
machines  stopped  rattling  and  the  men  went  past  me  and 
climbed  up  the  ladder.  I  followed  and  up  in  the  low  tunnel, 
which  they  called  the  crosscut,  they  were  all  sitting  eat- 
ing lustily.  There  were  no  electric  lights  there  but  each 
man  carried  his  own  lamp  or  candle.  They  looked  like 
gnomes  and  dwarfs  that  were  pictured  in  fairy  tales  I  read 
when  I  was  a  kid.  An  elderly,  heavy-set  miner  came  over 
and  sat  down  by  me.  He  was  an  American  and  he  was 
glad  to  have  some  one  to  talk  to,  he  said.  He  told  me  that 
I  had  been  working  too  hard,  that  I  had  done  as  much  as 
four  men  would  do  and  there  was  no  need  for  that.  Every- 
body took  it  easy  here,  he  explained,  for  one  was  liable  to 
get  killed  any  time,  so  why  kill  one's  self  working? 

I  told  him  that  I  had  a  headache  and  had  tried  to  work  it 
off  and  he  laughed  at  me  and  said  that  all  men  had  head- 
aches the  first  few  days  they  worked  in  a  mine.  It  was  the 
gas,  he  said,  and  promised  me  that  I  would  soon  get  over 
that. 

I  took  his  advice  and  worked  more  slowly  during  the  rest 
of  the  shift.  It  was  a  good  thing,  for  I  was  not  used  to 
work  at  all  and  my  hands  and  back  became  very  sore.    I 


202  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

would,  perhaps,  have  had  to  quit  had  I  not  slowed  down. 
I  was  in  a  sorry  shape  when  the  shift  was  over  and  I  wearily 
followed  the  other  men  to  the  station,  got  down  with  the 
cage  and  walked  out  of  the  mine  through  the  long  tunnel. 
I  had  no  appetite  but  went  directly  to  my  room  where  I  fell 
into  a  stupor  on  my  bed. 

My  room-mate,  a  Russian,  woke  me  up  and  said  it  was 
dinner  time,  but  I  was  too  sick  to  eat  and  went  back  to 
sleep,  not  getting  up  till  supper  time.  My  head  still  ached 
but  I  ate  a  bite,  got  my  lunch  bucket  and  followed  the 
night  shift  into  the  mine  again.  When  the  boss  saw  how 
sick  I  was,  he  looked  kindly  at  me  and  said  in  a  rich  Irish 
brogue  to  take  it  easy  and  that  I  would  get  over  that  in  a 
couple  of  days. 

I  was  very  weak  when  I  came  out  of  the  mine  again  that 
morning.  My  appetite  was  gone  and  I  had  a  pain  in  the 
chest.  I  told  Mike  about  it  when  I  saw  him  and  he  said 
I  had  the  Grippe  and  that  I  had  better  let  him  send  me  to 
the  hospital.  I  didn't  like  the-  idea  of  giving  up  right  away, 
however,  so  I  decided  to  try  it  another  shift.  I  slept  the 
whole  day,  and  after  a  slender  supper,  went  into  the  mine 
again.  My  head  was  swimming  all  that  night,  and  on  the 
way  out  of  the  mine  that  morning,  everything  went  black 
and  when  I  came  to,  I  was  here  in  the  hospital  in  Juneau. 
I  feel  better  now  and  expect  to  go  back  to  work  in  a  couple 
of  days.  The  doctor  says  that  I  am  in  no  condition  to  go  to 
work  in  a  mine,  but  what  can  I  do?  It  is  winter  time  and 
there  is  hardly  anything  else  that  I  can  get  to  do,  so  it  is  up 
to  me  to  go  back  and  see  if  I  can't  get  used  to  it  like  the 
rest  of  them. 


Perseverance  Mine, 
Juneau,  Alaska. 
Jan.  II,  1916. 
One  does  not  feel  much  like  writing  when  he  has  just 
come  out  of  a  dirty  old  hole  in  the  ground ;  he  is  full  of  dust 
and  gas  and  so  sleepy  he  can  hardly  keep  his  eyes  open.    I 


A  CAVE-DOWN  IN  THE  MINE      203 

am  afraid  my  diary  will  be  sorely  neglected  while  I  work 
here,  but  that  cannot  be  helped.  I  usually  go  to  sleep  as 
soon  as  I  have  washed  the  grime  off  under  a  shower  bath  in 
the  dry  room  and  have  eaten  my  breakfast,  or  supper.  It 
seems  the  gas  makes  me  so  sleepy  that  I  cannot  get  time  to 
do  anything  else  but  sleep  when  I  am  away  from  work.  But 
I  only  get  the  headaches  once  in  a  while  now  when  the  gas 
is  especially  heavy  down  there.  How  I  hate  that  hole  in 
the  ground !  Every  time  I  go  in  there  at  the  beginning  of 
the  shift,  I  wonder  if  they  will  carry  me  out  feet  first  like 
some  poor  devils  I  have  watched  go  by.  There  are  men 
hurt  every  day  and  one  or  more  killed  almost  every  week. 
It  is  dreadful !  Just  a  week  ago  two  men  were  killed  right 
beside  me,  and  probably  I  should  have  been  killed  too,  if  I 
had  not  been  so  scary  of  everything.  We  were  working  on 
number  two  stope  in  9  East.  I  was  helping  with  a  machine 
run  by  an  old  Scotchman  called  Mac. 

The  boss  had  told  me  to  stay  out  of  any  place  that  I 
thought  was  not  safe.  "The  company,"  he  had  said,  "is  not 
making  money  by  having  men  killed." 

We  were  working  in  a  very  soft  wall  of  rock  that  kept 
breaking  off  in  places,  sending  masses  of  loose  muck  grind- 
ing down  into  the  chutes.  My  nerves  were  all  on  edge  and 
every  time  a  rock  broke  off,  I  ran  like  a  scared  rabbit  for  the 
hole  that  led  up  to  the  crosscut.  Twice  during  the  first  part 
of  the  shift,  Mac  stopped  his  machine  and  yelled  for  the  oth- 
er men  to  stop  theirs  and  listen,  and  each  time  there  was  a 
cave-down  above  the  middle  of  the  roof.  The  roof  of  the 
stope  kept  sloughing  off  in  chunks.  I  had  the  feeling  that 
something  terrible  was  about  to  happen  and  I  3readed  en- 
tering that  stope  to  help  the  old  fellow.  He  didn't  blame  me 
and  did  everything  he  could  alone  while  I  sat  in  the  manway 
near  by,  watching  him,  ready  to  run  over  and  give  him  a 
hand  if  he  motioned  for  me,  but  more  ready  to  rush  up  the 
ladder  at  the  first  sign  of  danger.  Two  men  were  Working 
farther  up  in  the  stope  than  we  were  and  they  were  loth 
to  stop  when  Mac  yelled  to  them.    Mac  took  a  wrench  and 


204  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

went  over  to  them  and  told  them  that  if  they  didn't  cut  out 
working  when  he  told  them  to  he  would  knock  their  blocks 
off.  They  were  very  arrogant  and  asked  Mac  if  he  was  the 
boss  and  said  that  they  would  work  when  they  pleased ;  if 
Mac  was  so  scared,  why  didn't  he  get  out  of  the  mine? 
One  of  them  had  given  me  the  ha-ha  that  night  when  I 
rushed  for  the  manway,  startled  by  the  muck  rumbling  down 
the  chutes  when  the  ore  was  being  drawn  from  below  in 
the  tunnel.  Mac  said  that  he  would  go  out  before  he  would 
stay  and  work  with  such  fools  and  the  two  of  us  made  for 
the  manway.  We  had  just  reached  it  when  Mac  yelled, 
"Run !  for  God's  sake,  run !"  and  we  scrambled  madly  up  the 
ladder  away  from  the  smashing,  grinding,  cracking  stope 
that  was  caving  in  below  us.  Some  powder  exploded  down 
there  and  it  blew  out  our  lights,  leaving  me  lying  terror 
stricken  close  to  the  wall  of  the  crosscut,  while  Mac  lit  his 
lamp  and  hurried  down  to  the  tunnel  to  telephone  the  boss 
and  bring  help.  Some  more  men  came  up  from  the  stope. 
One  man  they  carried;  a  flying  rock  had  torn  off  his  arm. 
Another  one  had  a  great  gash  in  his  forehead.  He  had  fal- 
len in  the  dark.  They  were  all  white  faced  under  the  grime 
and  very  scared.  There  were  two  men  missing  but  no  one 
wanted  to  go  back  down  there  into  that  hell  hole  to  look 
for  them. 

The  shift  boss  came  rushing  up  with  Mac  and  a  dozen 
men  at  his  heels.  They  hurried  past  us  and  descended  to 
the  stope.  After  a  while  we  followed.  The  appearance  of 
the  whole  place  had  changed.  Where  before  there  was  a 
low  hanging  roof  and  a  deep  hole  below  to  the  chutes,  there 
was  now  a  high  curved  roof  like  that  of  a  church  and  the 
chutes  were  full  of  muck.  Where  the  machines  of  Mac 
and  the  other  men  had  stood,  there  was  a  great  pile 
and  there  were  no  signs  of  the  two  men  who  were  missing. 
The  boss  set  us  to  work  digging.  Under  eight  feet  of  rocky 
muck,  we  found  them  and  their  machine.  It  was  too  hor- 
rible to  describe.  We  carried  them  out  and  took  them  to 
the  station  and  they  were  sent  out  of  the  mine  for  the  last 


A  CAVE-DOWN  IN  THE  MINE      205 

time.  The  rest  of  us  sat  around  and  waited  for  the  shift 
to  be  over,  for  there  was  no  more  working  for  us  that  day. 

It  makes  one  feel  very  small  and  helpless  to  be  down  in  a 
mine  and  have  something  like  that  happen.  Death  hovers 
about  at  every  turn  and  one  never  knows  when  the  whole 
works  will  cave  in  and  bury  forever  all  men  who  work  in 
this  mountain.  I  don't  mind  the  idea  of  dying  so  much ;  it 
is  being  crushed  by  those  horrible  rock  slides  down  in  the 
dark  mine  where  the  rats  scurry  about  and  there  is  never 
any  sunshine.  I  wouldn't  mind  lying  dead  under  some  nice 
grassy  mound  where  the  sun  could  shine  softly  in  the  eve- 
ning, but  down  there  in  that  deep,  black  hole — oh,  I  couldn't 
bear  it !  I  wouldn't  go  back  down  fhere  again  if  I  could  find 
anything  else  to  do,  but  down  in  Juneau  all  work  has  stopped 
for  the  winter  and  I  cannot  afford  to  lie  around.  I  shall 
have  to  stay  here  till  March  and  then  I  will  go  to  Haines  and 
see  about  my  future  home  by  Odin's  Lake. 

In  a  letter  from  her  she  asked  me  if  I  still  thought  of  her 
as  I  did  when  I  left.  Oh,  how  could  she  ask !  Does  she  not 
know  that  I  am  ever  longing  to  break  my  vow  not  to  write 
of  love  until  I  am  again  respected  by  my  fellow  men?  Oh, 
Marian,  do  not  ask  me  now !  Let  me  make  a  man  of  my- 
self once  more,  first.  If  I  never  succeed  in  getting  ahead 
and  building  my  home,  then  I  shall  never  ask  her  to  come. 


Perseverance  Mine, 
Juneau,  Alaska. 
Feb.  20,  1916. 
In  a  letter  from  her,  she  tells  me  that  I  have  not  been  low- 
ered by  my  past  experiences.    But  I  know  that  every  week 
I  have  been  in  there,  every  moment  of  revenge,  every  hatred, 
has  left  its  mark  on  me  and  I  have  yet  to  prove  that  these 
marks  are  for  the  good  of  me.    If  I  can  stay  away  from  jail 
for  a  year  without  having  trouble  with  any  one;  if  I  can 
keep  climbing  upward  till  I  am  on  an  equal  footing  with 
other  men  when  the  year  is  up,  then  I  shall  write  and  ask 


2o6  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

her  to  come  to  me,  or  I  shall  go  to  her.  Most  likely  I  shall 
go  to  her,  for  her  people  have  never  seen  me,  and  though 
she  tells  me  they  read  my  diary,  it  is  but  a  poor  medium  of 
acquaintance.  In  this  coming  year  I  ought  to  be  able  to 
stake  my  homestead  and  build  a  cabin  large  enough  for 
two. 

The  men  here  know  who  I  am  and  where  I  have  just 
come  from  and  some  of  them  shun  me,  while  others,  more 
daring,  try  to  get  me  to  tell  of  my  experiences,  but  I  have 
no  desire  to  live  them  over  again,  so  I  have  to  disappoint 
them  every  time.  Once  in  a  while  a  fellow  comes  uninvited 
into  my  room,  sits  down  on  my  bed,  and  talks  confidentially 
of  his  own  experiences  in  various  jails.  This  is  to  give  me 
confidence  in  him.  Then,  after  a  while,  he  hints  that  he 
has  worked  out  a  fine  plan  to  get  some  quick  cash,  a  big 
haul,  or  some  easy  money.  Some  of  these  men  are  spies  for 
the  marshal's  office,  who  want  to  know  what  I  think  of 
such  things;  others  are  men  who  would  like  to  have  my 
help  in  making  a  big  haul  so  they  could  place  the  blame  on 
me  and  skip ;  others,  again,  are  real  honest  thieves  who  are 
looking  for  a  partner  for  some  exploit.  Some  of  these  men 
I  would  like  to  throw  out  of  my  room  on  their  heads  but  I 
mustn't  do  that,  for  part  of  my  program  is  not  to  make  any 
enemies.  So  I  tell  them  that  I  am  through  with  such  things, 
that  I  have  a  job  and  that  honest  toil  pays  best  in  the  long 
run.  I  am  emphatic  about  this  and  they  soon  learn  that  it 
does  no  good  to  fool  with  me. 

I  am  a  full  fledged  miner  now  and  have  my  own  machine, 
a  helper  and  everything.  Mac  quit  after  those  two  men 
were  killed  and  I  was  put  to  work  helping  on  two  water  ley- 
ner  machines  run  by  an  Austrian  and  a  Montenegrin.  They 
were  so  jealous  of  each  other  that  when  I  helped  one  of 
them  to  do  something,  the  other  became  violently  angry  and 
vice  versa.  I  told  the  boss  about  it  and  he  said  to  help  each 
of  them  put  up  their  machines,  bring  sharp  steel  to  them, 
take  away  the  dull  steel  and  do  nothing  else. 


A  CAVE-DOWN  IN  THE  MINE      207 

"The  less  you  do  for  those  fellows,  the  better  they  will 
like  you,"  he  said. 

And  he  was  right.  I  told  them  one  morning  when  I  had 
them  both  together  what  the  boss  had  said  to  me  and  that 
if  they  didn't  like  that,  they  could  go  to  him  and  tell  their 
troubles.  They  were  very  much  surprised  and  angry  with 
the  boss  and  were  going  to  tell  him  all  sorts  of  things,  but 
when  he  came,  they  were  all  smiles  and  didn't  say  one  thing 
about  it.  I  had  an  easy  time  after  that  and  it  is  a  fact  that 
the  two  machine  men  liked  me  much  better,  too.  When  I 
occasionally  did  help  them  or  run  their  machines  for  them 
for  a  few  minutes,  they  appreciated  it  and  showed  their  ap- 
preciation by  bringing  a  piece  of  steel  or  two  for  me  when 
they  came  back.  I  learned  a  great  deal  about  machine  min- 
ing and  it  was  not  long  before  I  knew  how  to  set  up  a 
machine  and  how  to  get  the  holes  in  to  the  best  advantage ; 
also  how  to  take  a  water  leyner  apart  and  put  it  together 
when  something  went  wrong  inside. 

One  day  we  were  told  to  go  up  and  go  to  work  in  num- 
ber one  stope,  north  on  5.  We  put  our  machines,  hose  and 
everything  on  a  car  and  took  it  along  with  us.  The  stope 
up  there  on  the  highest  level  was  a  great  monster  hole  in 
the  mountain.  It  looked  like  a  church  with  a  high  concave 
ceiling.  It  was  eight  hundred  feet  long  and  I  don't  know 
how  deep.  We  set  up  our  machines  near  the  entrance  to 
one  of  the  crosscuts  and  started  drilling  into  a  pillar  that 
held  a  great  mass  of  rock  from  caving  down.  When  we 
had  worked  about  an  hour,  we  saw  a  lot  of  lights  rushing 
along  the  footwall  and  disappearing  into  one  of  the  cross- 
cuts. A  lot  of  small  cave-downs  could  be  heard  in  the 
other  end  of  the  stope.  I  dropped  the  drills  I  was  packing 
and  ran  for  our  crosscut  as  fast  as  I  could.  My  partners 
saw  me  run  and,  leaving  their  machines,  followed.  We  lay 
down  close  to  the  crosscut  wall  and  waited. 

Before  a  large  cave-down  a  lot  of  smaller  bodies  of  rock 
generally  come  down.  They  call  that  the  key  rocks  falling 
out  and  whenever  that  happens,  it  is  everybody's  business 


2o8  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

to  get  out  of  the  stope  as  soon  as  possible.  A  great  cave- 
down  generally  gives  warning  and  if  a  man  pays  attention 
he  can  save  himself.  So  it  was  in  this  case.  Key  rocks  fell 
out  the  whole  length  of  the  stope,  crashing  into  the  chutes 
below  with  a  constant  grinding  roar.  Then,  suddenly,  there 
was  a  tremendous  noise  like  a  thousand  cannons  going  off. 
A  blast  of  air  surged  through  the  crosscut,  blowing  all  the 
lights  out  and  sending  empty  powder  boxes  and  dinner  pails 
flying  through.  One  hit  me  on  the  head  as  I  lay  there  hug- 
ging the  wall  in  the  dark  and  I  thought  that  this  was  the  end 
of  the  world.  The  whole  mountain  shook  and  quivered  and 
rocks  were  falling  off  the  roof  of  the  crosscut  and  rattling 
down  the  manways.  Then  it  was  over  and  men  began  to 
light  their  lamps  and  candles  and  crawled  up  to  the  en- 
trance of  the  stope  to  see  what  had  happened.  The  stope 
had  caved  in  the  whole  length  and  there  was  a  fifty  foot 
hole  in  the  roof  where  the  daylight  shone  through,  giving 
the  great  cave  a  ghostly  appearance.  The  whole  stope  that 
had  been  empty  before  was  filled  up  to  the  level  of  the  cross- 
cuts and  much  higher  in  places.  Our  machines  had  been 
buried  beneath  a  hundred  feet  of  rocks.  No  one  was  killed 
and  only  a  few  had  been  slightly  hurt  by  rocks  falling  off 
the  roofs  and  walls  of  crosscuts  and  tunnels.  It  was  esti- 
mated that  five  hundred  thousand  tons  had  caved  into  the 
chutes  and  I'll  say  that  they  are  right  when  they  call  it  cheap 
mining. 

There  was  no  hope  of  our  getting  our  machines  back 
again  before  the  ore  was  drawn  from  the  chutes,  so  we  were 
sent  down  to  work  in  a  new  stope  where  there  was  not  much 
danger.  Here  we  worked  for  a  week  or  so,  then  a  machine 
man  who  was  working  near  us  quit,  and  I  took  his  machine. 
It  is  not  difficult  to  do  at  all,  merely  a  matter  of  setting  up 
right  and  keeping  .the  drills  straight  in  their  holes.  I  get 
three  dollars  and  a  half  for  this,  which  is  fifty  cents  more 
than  I  was  getting  before,  so  I  have  made  one  more  step  up- 
ward in  life. 


A  CAVE-DOWN  IN  THE  MINE      209 

Juneau,  Alaska. 
March  15,  1916. 

I  am  through  with  the  mine  and  I  hope  I  shall  never  have 
to  work  underground  again.  The  outside  is  plenty  good 
enough  for  me  and  I  am  going  to  stay  there  if  I  can. 

To-morrow  I  leave  for  Haines.  I  wonder  how  all  of  my 
old  friends  will  receive  the  black  sheep  returned  to  the  fold. 
Some  will,  no  doubt,  snub  me,  while  others  will  be  as 
friendly  as  of  old.  The  Indians  will  probably  come  sneak- 
ing around  trying  to  get  me  to  get  booze  for  them,  for  the 
man  who  gets  into  jail  usually  has  no  scruples  about  ped- 
dling a  little  booze  on  the  quiet.  It  will  be  very  interesting 
to  be  there  once  again.  Of  course  all  my  soldier  friends  are 
gone,  as  the  regiment  has  been  taken  away  and  another  has 
taken  its  place.  But  I  will  not  have  much  time  to  be  hang- 
ing around  with  friends,  anyway,  as  I  shall  be  very  busy 
staking  my  claim  and  building  my  home. 

I  had  heard  that  a  man  convicted  of  a  felony  could  not 
take  up  a  homestead,  so  this  morning  I  interviewed  the 
judge  who  sentenced  me  and  he  said  it  was  all  a  mistake; 
that  I  had  just  as  much  right  as  any  one  to  a  homestead,  and 
to  go  ahead  and  get  settled  as  soon  as  I  could.  He  even 
offered  me  help  if  I  needed  it.  So  you  see,  even  a  judge  has 
a  kind  heart 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

MY    CLAIM    ON    VIKING's   COVE 

By  Odin's  Lake. 
March  30,  191 6. 

1AM  sitting  under  a  big  spruce  tree  and  in  front  of  me 
a  lusty  camp-fire  is  burning,  while  beyond  it  lies  Odin's 
Lake.  It  is  covered  with  several  feet  of  ice  and  snow 
but  it  is  very  beautiful  just  the  same — a  white  glade  amidst 
the  woods. 

I  came  to  Haines  a  couple  of  weeks  ago  and  met  all  my 
old  friends  once  again.  There  were  Johnny  and  Tim,  and 
Al  and  Joe  and  George.  They  all  gave  me  a  hearty  wel- 
come and  asked  what  they  could  do  for  me.  Of  course  I 
needed  no  help  but  it  made  me  feel  pretty  good,  just  the 
same.  Jack  asked  me  out  to  his  ranch  and  I  stayed  there 
about  ten  days  helping  him  with  this  and  that  about  fHe 
place.  Then  one  day  I  decided  to  go  down  and  see  about 
my  homestead.  Three  Swedes  had  taken  up  the  land  down 
there  the  summer  before  but  they  were  city  lads  and  had 
soon  wearied  of  the  silent  places  and  had  hurried  back  down 
to  Portland,  leaving  several  unpaid  bills  behind  them  with 
the  store  keepers.  I  had  written  to  the  land  office  asking 
if  there  were  any  notices  of  claims  on  this  land  and  they  had 
replied  that  there  were  not. 

I  started  out  with  a  small  blanket  roll  and  a  little  grub, 
a  frying  pan,  a  stew  pot  and  a  new  rifle  that  I  had 
bought  in  Juneau.  It  was  a  fine,  cool  day.  There  had  been 
a  frost  in  the  night  and  the  snow  had  frozen  on  top  so  I 
could  walk  on  it  anywhere  in  the  woods  without  breaking 
through.  The  trail  led  through  the  army  post,  across  the 
peninsula  to  the  Chilkat ;  then  along  the  beach  for  five  miles 

310 


MY  CLAIM  ON  VIKING'S  COVE       211 

to  Smokehouse  Bay  where  O'Brien,  an  old  Irishman,  has  his 
homestead.  I  stayed  with  him  for  a  while,  had  a  cup  of 
hot  coffee,  and  then  started  out  again  through  the  fine  woods 
across  the  peninsula  to  Flat  Bay.  Here  the  tide  had  gone 
out,  leaving  the  long  bay  high  and  dry.  Indeed,  Flat  Bay 
is  an  appropriate  name  for  it,  for  it  is  about  a  mile  long 
and  a  quarter  of  a  mile  wide,  and  when  the  tide  is  low,  one 
can  walk  across  it,  while  when  the  tide  is  high,  it  is  like 
a  big  lake,  reaching  clear  up  to  the  woody  edges.  There 
were  clumps  of  seaweed,  shells  of  mussels  and  clams,  and 
many  other  interesting  things  that  had  drifted  from  some 
place  and  anchored  there  in  the  bay.  I  felt  as  if  I  were 
walking  on  the  bottom  of  some  extinct  ocean. 

There  is  a  ranch  on  this  side  of  the  peninsula,  too.  It 
is  the  one  I  came  to  when  I  had  broken  out  of  jail  the  last 
time.  There  was  no  one  there  so  I  kept  on  along  the  beach 
a  mile  further  where  the  trail  leads  up  to  Odin's  Lake. 
No  one  would  know  there  was  a  trail  there,  the  ground 
was  covered  so  deeply  with  snow.  There  is  a  half  built 
log  cabin  near  the  beach  that  had  been  started  by  the  Swedes 
and  I  camped  by  it  the  first  night.  I  slept  under  an  over- 
hanging spruce  tree  with  a  great  big  fire  built  of  driftwood 
to  keep  me  warm.  There  was  a  mild  south  breeze  and  little 
waves  lapped  on  the  pebbly  cove  like  a  low,  sweet  lullaby. 
It  was  very  wonderful  to  be  in  the  outdoors  again  and  to 
be  all  alone  in  the  peaceful  woods.  I  lay  long  in  the  night 
and  gazed  into  the  fire  and  up  into  the  sky  where  the  stars 
were  tumbling  out  one  by  one  and  in  clusters,  blinking  and 
twinkling  down  through  infinity  to  me,  filling  me  with  cheer 
and  hope.  It  seemed  that  they  were  laughing  and  singing 
to  me,  telling  me  that  my  troubles  were  over  and  that  now  I 
could  take  my  reward,  the  earth,  the  woods,  the  fiord,  the 
mountains,  the  beauty  and  the  peace.  Then  the  wavelets 
lulled  me  to  sleep  and  I  woke  up  in  the  morning  joyous  and 
happy  to  be  there ;  not  in  a  mine  or  a  jail. 

I  cooked  some  hot  cakes,  ate  and  went  out  to  stake  my 
claim.    On  a  rocky  point  that  is  the  end  of  my  cove  and 


212  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

which  I  named  Viking's  Point,  I  chopped  down  my  first 
spruce  tree  and  made  my  first  stake.  From  there  I  walked 
up  through  the  woods  in  a  southerly  direction,  blazing  a 
tree  now  and  then  and  counting  my  steps.  I  would  take  my 
full  allowance,  three  hundred  and  twenty  acres.  Seventeen 
hundred  and  sixty  yards  I  stepped,  and  then  made  another 
stake  and  planted  it,  blazing  a  lot  of  trees  all  around  to 
make  the  place  conspicuous.  It  was  not  accurate  measur- 
ing, but  the  law  reads  to  measure  to  one's  best  ability,  and 
stepping  off  the  distance  was  the  only  way  I  had  of  doing 
it.  Then  I  went  eight  hundred  and  eighty  yards  in  a  wes- 
terly direction  along  the  side  of  the  hill  that  lies  behind 
Odin's  Lake,  and  post  number  three  was  planted  in  a  grove 
of  big  hemlocks  with  trees  that  are  four  feet  in  diameter 
and  which  will  make  good  saw  logs  some  day  when  I  have  a 
little  saw  mill  rigged  up  on  the  creek  that  runs  out  of  the 
lake.  From  post  number  three  I  walked  straight  down  to 
the  fiord  again  and  put  up  a  stake  the  right  distance  from 
post  number  one,  and  my  homestead  was  staked!  I  put 
up  a  notice  in  a  box  on  a  tree  where  the  trail  to  the  lake 
leaves  the  beach,  and  made  a  duplicate  notice  that  I  shall 
send  to  the  land  office  when  I  get  back  to  Haines.  This 
work  took  me  all  day,  for  there  were  many  thickets  to  cut 
my  way  through,  and  several  times  I  lost  count  and  had  to 
go  back  over  my  line  to  get  it  right.  I  moved  my  camp  up 
to  Odin's  Lake  in  the  evening  and  found  a  place  under  a 
branchy  spruce  tree  where  there  was  no  snow,  making  it  a 
good  place  to  camp.  I  have  been  resting  a  couple  of  days 
looking  things  over  and  trying  to  decide  where  is  the  best 
place  to  start  clearing  and  where  I  ought  to  build.  There 
is  a  low  bench  down  by  the  cove  that  is  covered  with  a 
thick  growth  of  willows  and  alders.  I  think  I  will  start 
down  there,  making  that  my  first  field. 

Odin's  Lake  lies  right  in  the  center  of  my  land  and 
around  it  is  the  best  sort  of  a  valley  with  patches  of  alder, 
birch  and  willow,  and  a  sprinkling  of  spruce  trees.  It  will 
be  comparatively  easy  to  clear,  and  if  everything  goes  well. 


MY  CLAIM  ON  VIKING'S  COVE       213 

I  ought  to  be  able  to  make  a  good  farm  out  of  it.  I  shall 
try  to  get  a  little  piece  cleared  this  spring  so  I  can  put  in  a 
small  garden,  and  as  soon  as  I  can,  I  am  going  to  fell  trees 
for  the  cabin.  There  is  a  fine  grove  of  young  spruce  trees 
where  I  intend  to  build,  and  all  I'll  have  to  do  is  to  cut 
them  down,  notch  them,  and  pile  them  up,  and  there  is  my 
house.  I  am  chock-full  of  plans  for  what  I  am  going  to  do 
and  the  only  trouble  is  how  will  I  ever  get  the  time !  Yet, 
Rome  wasn't  built  in  a  day,  so  why  worry  about  time. 

I  am  going  back  to  Haines  to-morrow  to  get  an  outfit  of 
grub,  tools  and  things,  and  I'll  try  to  get  a  boat  to  transport 
them  down  here.  The  sun  is  going  below  the  rim  of  the 
peaks,  so  I  had  better  stop  writing  and  get  my  supper. 

Viking's  Cove, 

Haines,  Alaska. 

April  20,  1916. 

When  I  came  to  Haines  from  Juneau,  the  school  teacher 
invited  me  to  spend  an  evening  with  him  and  his  wife  and 
we  talked  of  Vikings  and  Norse  Mythology  and  read  poetry 
about  Vikings.  Then  we  spoke  of  how  this  country  was  so 
much  like  the  Northland  where  the  old  Vikings  had  lived. 
It  was  that  talk  that  caused  me  to  name  my  point  Viking's 
Point.  When  I  rowed  in  here  with  my  outfit  the  last  time 
and  the  nice  round  cove  seemed  to  welcome  me,  I  named  it 
Viking's  Cove.  Indeed,  I  felt  like  a  Viking.  Was  I  not 
one  from  the  land  where  the  Vikings  once  lived,  and  was  I 
not  even  now  starting  out,  a  young  rover  building  my  home 
in  the  wilderness  of  a  new  land  as  they  did  in  the  old  days? 

I  bought  a  lot  of  things  in  Haines,  a  tent  and  some  more 
blankets,  cooking  utensils  and  grub.  I  got  a  saw  and  a  new 
ax,  a  grub  hoe  and  a  shovel  and  the  many  other  things  I 
needed.  Then  I  bought  a  fourteen-foot  skiff  from  a  soldier. 
It  was  not  a  very  good  boat  and  one  side  was  broken  in, 
but  I  got  it  cheap  and  borrowed  some  tools  from  the  post 
engineer  to  fix  it  up  so  it  would  float.  I  got  a  gallon  of  coal 
tar  from  the  painter  and  when  I  have  time  some  dry  day, 


214  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

I'll  haul  the  craft  up  on  the  beach  and  paint  the  bottom  of 
her  with  tar.  When  I  had  everything  bought  and  ready, 
I  loaded  my  things  into  the  skiff  and  started  rowing  for  my 
home. 

It  was  a  fine  day  and  the  fiord  was  as  still  as  a  mill  pond. 
Great  flocks  of  ducks  quacked  about  along  the  shores,  and 
loons  and  divers  swam  around  and  dove  and  came  up  and 
dove  and  came  up  again,  always  keeping  at  a  respectful  dis- 
tance from  the  man  rowing  along  in  his  heavy  craft.  I  shot 
a  couple  of  ducks  near  Battery  Point,  landed  there,  built  a 
fire  and  cooked  my  dinner.  I  am  never  as  happy  as  when  I 
am  camping  out,  sitting  before  a  campfire,  turning  my  meat 
on  a  spit  and  watching  the  rice  boil  in  the  pot.  Sea  gulls 
came  gliding  past,  looking  inquiringly  at  me  and  my  camp, 
and  great  eagles  soared  overhead,  making  wide  circles 
across  the  sky. 

I  got  into  my  skiff  again  and  rowed  along  easily.  The 
boat  was  heavy  to  pull,  as  I  had  a  big  load  on  board,  but 
there  was  no  hurry  so  I  just  moseyed  along  with  slow 
strokes,  gliding  around  the  rocky  points  and  across  the 
rounded,  pebbly  coves. 

Along  in  the  afternoon  I  reached  my  own  beach.  I  packed 
my  outfit  up  the  beach  and  made  my  camp  under  some  big 
spruce  trees  near  where  I  intended  to  make  my  clearing. 
There  was  very  little  snow  and  I  soon  had  a  cleared  space 
large  enough  for  my  tent  and  my  ten-by-twelve  home 
pitched  over  it.  I  cut  enough  spruce  and  hemlock  boughs  to 
make  a  soft  mattress  and  spread  my  bed  on  top  of  them. 
Then  I  ran  up  to  the  lake  and  brought  down  the  rest  of  the 
outfit  I  had  cached  there,  cooked  supper  and  went  to  sleep. 

The  next  day,  after  making  my  camp  as  comfortable  as 
I  could,  I  made  a  trail  over  to  my  future  clearing  and  be- 
gan cutting  down  trees  and  brushes  and  piling  them  in  wind- 
rows on  top  of  the  snow.  It  was  great  fun,  for  my  ax  was 
sharp  as  a  razor  and  it  fairly  mowed  down  the  alder  brush. 
By  nightfall  on  the  first  day,  I  had  quite  a  hole  cut  in  the 
woods  and  I  felt  very  proud  and  ambitious.    I  was  hewing 


MY  CLAIM  ON  VIKING'S  COVE       215 

a  farm  out  of  the  wilderness !  I  was  putting  my  mark  on 
the  face  of  the  earth!  Where  now  stood  great  forests  of 
brush  and  trees,  I  would  have  fields  of  clover  and  gardens 
full  of  fruit  and  flowers.  I  felt  that  I  was  doing  good  and 
really  accomplishing  something,  not  only  for  myself,  but  for 
the  good  of  the  whole  country,  I  was  making  Alaska  more 
habitable.     That  was  worth  working  for. 

I  have  been  slashing  two  weeks  now  and  have  made  a 
large  clearing.  Any  one  passing  Viking's  Cove  on  the  fiord 
can  see  that  a  ranch  is  being  made  and  1  am  very  grateful 
that  I  am  the  one  who  has  the  privilege  of  making  it. 

The  blue  grouse  have  begun  to  hoot  and  the  good,  warm 
spring  is  here.  True,  there  is  still  snow  everywhere,  but  it 
is  going  fast,  disappearing  visibly  day  by  day. 

A  few  days  ago  I  climbed  up  the  hill  that  forms  part  of 
the  backbone  of  the  peninsula.  There  is  a  grand  view  up 
there.  Lynn  Canal  stretches  down  toward  Icy  Straits, 
flanked  all  the  way  by  mountain  fastnesses  and  pearly  white 
peaks,  dotted  all  along  with  small,  spruce  clad  islands.  I 
could  look  far  up  the  Chilkat  river  to  the  ice  bound  interior 
behind,  all  white,  glistening  white  snow  and  ice  wastes. 
Over  across  the  Chilkat  inlet  I  could  see  four  or  five  ranch 
houses.  There  was  Joe  Curry's  house  at  the  foot  of  David- 
son Glacier,  where  there  are  miles  and  miles  of  meadow 
lands  covered  with  sweet  native  beach  rye.  It  is  an  ideal 
place  for  cattle  ranching,  if  there  were  only  a  road  and  a 
ferry  by  which  to  cross  the  inlet.  That,  of  course,  will  come 
in  time,  for  all  along  that  shore  there  are  wide  grass  lands 
that  are  bound  to  be  taken  up  some  day.  It  is  a  great  coun- 
try and  there  are  thousands  of  acres  waiting  patiently  for 
man  to  come  and  live  on  them.  If  we  had  roads  up  here, 
the  whole  country  would  be  settled  up  as  quickly  as  were 
Washington  and  Oregon  when  those  territories  were  dis- 
covered to  be  habitable. 

On  the  way  down  from  the  mountain  I  killed  a  big  hooter 
grouse.  It  is  out  of  season  but  I  was  very  meat  hungry  and 
he  sat  on  a  branch  right  above  me.    I  made  a  big  stew  and 


2i6  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

though  he  was  a  little  old  and  tough,  it  was  very  good.  I 
am  going  in  to  Haines  to  get  a  few  things  that  I  need  and 
to  see  if  I  can  get  a  job  when  I  have  finished  slashing  and 
piling  the  brush  on  this  five-acre  piece  that  I  started  on.  It 
takes  money  to  build  and  I  must  earn  enough  this  summer 
to  build  a  house  and  live  all  next  winter. 

An  owl  is  hooting  over  in  the  deep  woods  and  it  is  get« 
ting  shadowy  around  my  camp.  The  fire  glows  brighter 
than  before  and  throws  shafts  of  light  up  in  the  branches 
when  the  flames  leap  from  the  logs.  Soon  I  will  get  in 
among  the  warm  blankets  to  sleep  and  to-morrow  I'll  take 
the  trail  to  town  once  more. 


Haines,  Alaska. 
May  15,  1916. 

Time  has  passed  swiftly  and  I  have  been  very  busy.  I 
have  finished  slashing  the  five  acres  of  my  ranch,  and  as  the 
brush  was  as  yet  too  green  to  burn,  I  loaded  my  tent  and 
household  goods  on  my  boat  and  came  into  town.  I  landed 
on  the  beach  near  Fort  Seward  and  picked  out  a  good  place 
to  pitch  my  tent  and  then  made  my  little  home  as  comfort- 
able as  I  could  with  a  spruce  bough  bed  and  a  little  table. 
I  went  over  to  Haines  and  bought  a  Yukon  stove  with  a 
cast-iron  top  and  put  it  in  one  corner  of  my  tent.  It  looks 
like  a  real  little  homely  kitchen  with  my  small  pots  and  pans 
hanging  about.  I  had  brought  my  sourdough  pot  in  with  me 
and  I  hung  it  in  a  good  warm  place.  In  the  morning  I 
have  sourdough  hotcakes  with  an  egg  in  them  and  lots  of 
butter  and  syrup. 

I  have  begun  taking  cold  baths,  plunging  in  the  fiord  in 
the  morning.  At  five  o'clock  when  the  sun  is  only  a  little 
way  above  the  mountain  top  and  the  little  spears  of  grass 
that  have  just  broken  through  the  black  earth  are  strung 
with  drops  of  dew  that  gleam  like  diamonds  in  its  rays,  I 
roll  out  of  my  warm  blankets,  slip  off  my  night  clothes  ana 
step  out  of  my  tent.  Out  there  in  the  cool  morning  breeze 
my  flesh  shrinks  from  the  touch  of  the  wind  and  only  by 


MY  CLAIM  ON  VIKING'S  COVE       217 

clamping  my  teeth  together  can  I  keep  them  from  chatter- 
ing. My  body  says  it  would  be  much  nicer  to  get  into  warm 
clothes,  but  my  brain  thinks  of  how  fine  my  body  will  feel 
after  it  is  all  over,  and  I  walk  determinedly  down  to  the 
water's  edge,  wade  in  to  my  waist,  and  dive  under.  Once 
under  the  water,  I  usually  get  stricken  with  a  joyous  panic 
and  scramble  out  as  fast  as  I  can  but  sometimes  I  keep  my 
head  and  swim  around  a  little  before  I  get  out  and  climb 
up  the  beach.  The  wind  no  longer  seems  chill  and  the  sun 
seems  to  have  become  very  warming.  It  envelops  me  in  a 
billow  of  warmth  as  I  rub  myself  dry  and  my  whole  body 
tingles  with  the  joy  of  life.  I  would  like  to  run,  run,  run ! 
Then  I  light  my  fire  and  my  hot  cakes  begin  to  splutter  in 
the  skillet  and  the  coflFee  sends  up  a  refreshing  aroma. 
When  my  stack  of  three-frying-pan-size  cakes  are  baked 
and  buttered  and  soaked  in  syrup,  I  sit  down  to  eat  joy- 
ously my  lonesome  breakfast.  I  am,  as  a  rule,  perfectly 
happy  to  be  alone  in  the  morning.  I  have  all  sorts  of  things 
to  think  about  and  to  do  and  I  get  enough  company  when 
I  am  with  the  men  I  work  with.  But  some  times  in  the  eve- 
ning when  the  sun  is  low  and  I  am  tired  from  the  long  day, 
I  sit  outside  of  my  tent  at  the  edge  of  the  wood,  the  good 
warm  sun  casting  its  last,  long,  slanting  rays  through  the 
tree  tops  and  the  robins  singing  their  evening  song  to  their 
mates  on  the  nest,  and  there  comes  to  me  an  overwhelming 
sense  of  loneliness.  I  could  go  over  to  the  post  or  the  town 
and  see  and  talk  to  all  kinds  of  people  but  that  is  not  what 
I  want  or  need.  I  have  often  had  that  same  loneliness  in 
a  crowd.  It  is  a  mate  I  want.  One  to  whom  I'  can  talk 
and  who  will  understand,  so  that  there  would  be  perfect 
sympathy  between  us.  I  have  become  a  full  grown  man 
and  I  am  in  the  best  of  health.  I  am  strong,  much  stronger 
than  most  men  and  by  rights  I  ought  to  have  a  mate.  But 
now  I  must  not  only  be  strong,  I  must  have  intelligence  and 
must  demonstrate  my  strength  and  intelligence  by  building 
a  home  and  making  myself  a  place  in  society.    Thus,  I  do 


2i8  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

not  rush  off  to  seek  my  mate  as  my  loneliness  prompts  me 
to,  but  I  wait,  and  while  waiting,  I  dream  and  look  at  her 
picture  and  read  her  letters  and  think  of  how  it  will  be 
when  she  is  up  here  in  the  northland.  As  long  as  I  strive 
for  my  goal  and  keep  clean  and  true  to  my  ideals,  I  feel  that 
it  is  my  privilege  to  dream  and  that  my  dreams  will  come 
true.  Yet,  in  spite  of  my  ideals  and  the  fact  that  Marian 
is  the  only  woman  who  occupies  my  thoughts,  I  am  uncon- 
sciously seeking  a  mate.  I  didn't  realize  it  till  the  other  day 
when  I  was  over  in  town  and  saw  a  girl  I  had  never  seen 
before,  on  the  street.  She  was  coming  toward  me  and  I 
wondered  idly  who  she  could  be.  Up  here  one  knows  every- 
body living  in  the  town  and  a  stranger  attracts  attention. 
When  she  came  nearer  and  I  saw  by  her  figure  and  dress 
that  she  was  a  young  girl  of  perhaps  eighteen,  my  pulses 
quickened  and  I  examined  her  minutely  while  she  was  yet 
a  little  way  off;  and  she  looked  inquiringly  at  me,  perhaps 
for  the  same  reason.  When  she  came  closer  and  it  was 
no  longer  polite  to  look  closely  at  her,  I  turned  my  eyes 
away  and  didn't  glance  at  her  again. 

I  am  writing  this  down  because  it  is  so  and  because  I 
want  Marian  to  know  me  as  I  really  am.  I  am  a  full  grown 
male  and  I  am  interested  in  single  females,  in  spite  of  my 
love  for  the  only  woman  in  the  world  for  me,  and  I  would 
be  a  liar  if  I  let  her  believe  that  I  was  different. 

I  work  on  the  pile  driver  here  and  get  four  dollars  a  day. 
It  costs  me  about  fifty  cents  a  day  to  live,  so  I  am  saving 
money.  If  the  job  lasts  another  month  or  so,  I  shall  go 
back  to  my  ranch  and  bum  my  slashing  and  put  in  a  small 
garden. 

I  was  over  to  my  neighbor's  town  house  the  other  day 
and  he  told  me  that  he  used  to  fish  salmon  off  the  beach 
where  my  homestead  is.  He  said  it  was  a  very  good  place 
to  set  nets  and  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  get  some  nets' 
from  the  cannery  if  I  can  and  see  if  I  can  make  anything 
at  it.  It  would  be  a  great  help  to  me  if  I  could  stay  right 
at  hcMne  making  money  fishing,  at  the  same  time  working  on 


MY  CLAIM  ON  VIKING'S  COVE       219 

my  ranch,  building  the  cabin  and  clearing  the  land  this 
summer. 


Haines,  Alaska. 
June  8,  1916. 

I  went  to  work  painting  the  barracks  of  the  Post  as  soon 
as  the  pile  driver  work  was  over  and  I  have  been  working 
steadily  every  day  till  to-day.  It  is  raining  and  the  boss 
painter  laid  the  whole  gang  off  because  we  were  doing  out- 
side painting  and  that  can't  be  done  when  it  rains. 

I  have  bought  an  old  Indian  war  canoe,  forty  feet  long 
and  eight  feet  wide  amidships.  It  looks  more  like  a  Viking 
ship  than  anything  else  I  can  think  of  to  compare  it  with; 
it  is  long,  low  and  has  upturned  ends.  It  belonged  to  some 
soldiers  but  they  were  neglecting  it.  They  had  left  it  lying 
sideways  on  the  beach  where  the  waves  reached  and  pounded 
on  it  every  time  there  was  an  extremely  high  tide.  I  offered 
them  five  dollars  for  it  and  they  were  so  happy  that  they 
gave  me  a  lot  of  stuff  they  had  bought  the  summer  before 
when  they  had  been  very  enthusiastic  and  were  going  to 
make  all  sorts  of  money  with  it  fishing  and  freighting. 
There  was  a  lot  of  wire  for  rigging,  rigging  screws  and 
blocks,  ropes,  two  large  sails,  tools  and  things  that  were 
worth  at  least  thirty  dollars,  so  I  really  made  a  successful 
deal. 

The  canoe  was  considerably  battered  and  had  two  long 
cracks  in  the  bottom,  but  I  have  her  up  on  the  beach  above 
high  tide,  and  now  that  I  have  her  bottom  fixed  up,  she 
looks  like  a  right  good  craft.  I  spend  some  time  on  her 
every  morning  before  I  go  to  work  and  every  evening  when 
I  can,  and  when  I  get  her  calked  up  and  painted  and  her 
rigging  on,  she  will  be  a  real  sailing  ship.  I  will  load  her 
up  with  grub  and  things,  sail  her  down  and  cast  anchor  in 
Viking's  Cove.    It  will  be  great  fun. 

I  am  sitting  on  my  bed  of  spruce  boughs  using  a  dry 
goods  box  for  a  table  and  I  am  quite  happy.  The  rain  is 
drumming  on  the  tent  and  everything  outside  is  dripping 


220  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

wet,  but  here  in  my  little  home,  everything  is  dry  and  warm, 
for  the  stove  is  lustily  eating  up  the  woodpile,  filling  the 
tent  with  comfortable  warmth.  On  days  like  this  I  like  to 
lie  and  read  or  write.  There  will  be  many  such  days  next 
winter  if  I  do  not  go  south,  when  the  wind  will  be  driving 
the  snow  or  rain  and  I'll  be  dry  and  warm  in  my  cabin. 
I'll  perhaps  have  a  typewriter  and  get  some  of  my  manu- 
scripts copied.  Oh,  I'll  not  be  so  very  lonesome  with  all 
those  things  to  do. 

I  have  been  wondering  the  last  few  days  if  it  would  be 
right  to  ask  a  woman  to  come  up  here  and  live  the  life  that 
I  live.  Marian  said  in  her  letter  that  it  would  be  wonder- 
ful to  live  in  a  world  so  primitive,  strenuous  and  virile. 
That  is  the  way  I  feel  about  it.  It  is  fine  but  I  am  not  sure 
that  she  realizes  the  drawbacks  there  are  here.  It  is  very 
well  to  think  of  this  glorious  land  in  a  general  way.  In  a 
broad  way  it  is  wonderful,  splendid,  desirable,  but  when  it 
comes  right  down  to  living  here,  making  a  home  of  it,  many 
things  appear  which  I  would  consider  exceedingly  unpleas- 
ant for  a  woman  who  has  known  nothing  but  comfortable 
circumstances.  I  wouldn't  like  to  have  Marian  think  that 
I  am  trying  to  discourage  her.  What  I  want  to  do  is  be  fair 
and  explain  all  there  is  to  it,  for  I  don't  know  whether  or 
not  such  a  girl  could  like  or  even  bear  to  live  the  life  I  lead. 
As  far  as  I  am  concerned,  I  love  it.  When  I  was  down  at 
Viking's  Cove,  I  saw  something  new  every  day  and  I  be- 
came more  and  more  attached  to  the  place.  I  think  of  it 
already  as  being  home  to  me,  though  it  is  still  nothing  but 
a  wilderness.  Its  possibilities  are  infinite.  A  mine  has  only 
so  much  ore,  a  forest  only  so  many  trees,  but  a  piece  of  farm 
land  is  a  never  ending  fortune.  Once  I  get  the  best  of  the 
wilderness,  I  can  live  on  it ;  my  children  can  live  on  it,  and 
my  children's  children,  the  soil,  with  careful  working,  be- 
coming richer  and  richer,  a  continually  growing  source  of 
wealth.  But  that  is  going  rather  far  into  the  future  and 
not  at  all  what  I  intended  to  write  about.  I  know  from 
Marian's  last  letter  that  she  is  growing  restless.     She  is 


MY  CLAIM  ON  VIKING'S  COVE       221 

young  and  strong  and  wants  to  make  her  own  way,  feeling 
impatient  of  the  home  ties  that  bind  only  too  securely  for 
the  comfort  of  the  young  wanderlust.  If  I  only  had  my 
cabin  built,  I  would  feel  safe  in  asking  her  to  come  up  here 
to  look  things  over,  but  I  have  nothing  but  three  hundred 
and  twenty  acres  of  wilderness,  a  couple  of  old  boats,  a 
tent,  some  tools  and  two  hundred  dollars.  That  is  a  great 
improvement  on  what  I  had  six  months  ago  when  I  was 
released  from  prison,  but  hardly  a  safe  foundation  on  which 
to  marry.  I  don't  dare  ask  her  to  leave  the  comforts  of  the 
civilized  world  and  yet  I  believe  in  the  equality  of  the  sexes 
and  that  man  and  woman  should  make  the  home  together. 
Still,  I  don't  know  whether  it  works  or  not.  If  only  she 
were  not  so  civilized — ^but  she  is  and  I  have  to  wait  till  the 
cabin  is  an  actuality  before  I  ask  her. 

The  rain  is  drumming  on  the  tent  and  the  waves  are 
booming  on  the  beach.  The  world  is  gray  and  chilly  out- 
side and  I  feel  a  little  forsaken  and  alone.  How  the  wind 
soughs  through  the  tree  tops!  I  feel  very  far  from  her, 
someway.  At  first  her  letter  gave  me  cheer  and  comfort. 
I  imagined  that  she  might  even  come  up  here  to  visit  and 
I  pictured  our  courtship  and  love  here  in  the  woods,  but 
then  I  thought  of  how  little  comfort  I  really  had  to  offer 
and  how  many  trials  there  are  for  a  woman  up  here  and  all 
the  obstacles  came  to  my  mind.  But  that  doesn't  mean  that 
I  have  lost  all  hope  of  having  her.  I  am  more  or  less  a 
fatalist,  and  if  it  is  our  fate,  we  shall  come  together  sooner 
or  later,  and  if  we  are  not  made  for  each  other,  it  is  useless 
to  buck  the  Fates.  If  we  did,  it  would  only  end  in  dis- 
aster. If  we  go  on  living  as  we  have  been,  doing  the  best 
we  can  and  letting  things  come  as  they  will,  it  will  all 
come  out  for  the  best  in  the  end  and  we  shall  be  happy. 


Haines,  Alaska. 
June  15,  1916. 
My  Viking  ship  is  now  ready  to  sail  away.     She  lies  at 
anchor  out  there  in  the  bay  riding  the  waves  gracefully,  like 


222  Kl^hSYiK  MAN'S  LUCK 

a  swan.  She  drifts  this  way  and  that,  blown  by  the  breeze 
that  comes  in  from  the  fiord  and  tugged  at  by  the  tide  that 
runs  out  and  she  pulls  on  her  anchor  rope  as  if  she  were 
anxious  and  impatient  to  be  let  loose,  free  to  go  some- 
where. 

It  is  warm.  The  spring  was  late  in  coming  but  when  it 
came,  it  rolled  down  on  us  like  a  wave  of  sweet  blessings. 
It  had  been  rainy  and  chilly  for  quite  a  while.  The  buds  on 
the  trees  were  swelling  more  and  more  but  they  dared  not 
open  for  a  frost  might  set  in  any  time  in  a  spring  as  chill 
as  this.  Then  in  the  middle  of  May  there  came  a  few  sun- 
shiny days  and  on  the  morning  of  the  nineteenth  the  leaves 
broke  through  suddenly,  flooding  the  woods  with  pale,  green 
light.  The  spring  was  in  full  swing.  As  if  touched  by  a 
magic  wand,  the  woods  poured  out  my  raids  of  flowers  and 
everything  bloomed,  lived  and  loved  life.  The  song  birds, 
the  squirrels,  the  scurrying  rabbits,  all  were  joyous  and 
loving,  finding  their  mates.  Living  alone  there  on  the  beach 
by  the  edge  of  the  woods,  working  most  of  the  day  in  the 
post  and  the  rest  of  the  time  with  my  boats,  I  was  qui^ 
lonely. 

I  sailed  down  to  the  Chilkoot  cannery  one  day  and  got  two 
set-nets  to  fish  with,  I  also  got  two  pups  that  I  intend 
to  use  as  sleigh  dogs  next  winter.  While  down  in  the  In- 
dian village  of  the  cannery,  I  had  two  small  adventures. 
I  walked  along,  nodding  howdy  to  the  Indians  I  knew  and 
inquiring  about  pups,  and  one  of  them  took  me  to  a  squaw 
who  had  a  pup  she  wanted  to  sell.  He  was  a  nice  lively  little 
fellow  and  looked  as  if  he'd  make  a  pretty  good  dog.  I 
asked  how  big  his  father  and  mother  were  and  bickered 
with  her  about  the  price.  Pups  had  been  selling  around 
there  at  a  dollar  apiece  but  this  woman  wanted  two 
dollars  and  a  half  for  hers.  I  beat  her  down  to  a  dollar  and 
a  half,  and,  while  doing  it,  she  offered  me  her  hand  in  mar- 
riage. She  knew  a  fine  place  to  set-net,  she  said  and  we 
could  put  out  outfits  together  and  live  Indian  fashion.  She 
had  been  married  to  a  white  man,  she  informed  me,  but  he 


MY  CLAIM  ON  VIKING'S  COVE       223 

had  died  and  now  she  was  looking  for  a  new  partner.  I 
declined  quite  pleasantly  and  started  down  the  street  in  quest 
of  another  dog. 

Near  the  end  of  the  village  stood  a  little  shack  built  up 
on  the  side  of  a  bank.  An  Indian  girl  stood  on  the  porch 
bent  over  a  tub  of  clothes,  and  against  the  side  of  the  shack 
lay  a  spotted  black  and  white  pup,  a  very,  very  skinny  pup. 

"Is  that  your  pup?"  I  asked  and  the  girl  looked  up. 

"You  wish  to  sell  him?"  I  pointed  to  the  dog. 

"How  much  you  pay  ?"  she  smiled,  gazing  at  me. 

I  think  she  was  playing  a  joke  on  me,  trying  to  flirt  with 
me.  Indian  girls  have  learned  a  great  deal  about  the  ways 
of  the  white  man.  She  was  safe  enough  to  make  a  fool  out 
of  me  there  among  her  own  people,  if  she  could.  I  was 
wondering  what  she  was  up  to  and  did  not  answer  right 
away  but  stood  there  studying  her.  "How  much  you  pay, 
big  man  ?"  she  asked  again  and  smiled  prettily  to  me. 

She  managed  to  make  an  impression  on  me,  not  that  this 
was  so  hard  to  do,  for  I  had  been  very  lonely  for  the  last 
few  days.  She  was  beautiful  and  I  will  be  frank  and  say 
that  it  thrilled  me.  Up  here  among  the  primitive  people, 
there  is  not  much  place  for  the  inconsequential  flirtations 
that  are  so  common  among  more  civilized  peoples.  Here 
there  is  a  whole  lot  in  a  look  of  love  and  it  stirs  a  lonely 
man  like  me  to  the  core.  There  was  no  one  around  to  hear 
us  and  I  said  nice  things  to  her  as  I  was  buying  the  pup. 
I  asked  her  name  and  she  told  me  that  she  was  married  and 
covered  her  face  with  her  hands.  Her  husband  had  paid 
six  hundred  dollars  for  her  a  month  before. 

Several  Indians  had  seen  this  little  incident  and  one  of 
them  came  to  me  down  on  the  beach  by  my  boat  and  told 
me  that  this  girl,  Alice,  had  married  an  old  fat  man  who 
who  was  blind  in  one  eye  and  who  treated  her  very  badly ; 
also  that  Alice  was  anxious  to  leave  him  and  that  if  I  wanted 
to,  almost  all  of  the  Indians  would  help  me  take  her  away 
from  him  and  marry  her.  The  Indian  pointed  out  a  man 
coming  up  the  beach. 


224  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

"Alice's  husband,"  he  said. 

He  was  a  short,  squat  Indian  and  looked  like  the  devil 
himself.  Frank,  my  friend,  said  that  he  was  as  mean  as 
he  was  ugly. 

"He  beat  Alice  every  night,"  he  told  me,  "we  hear  her 
scream  all  the  time." 

I  got  into  my  skiff  and  pulled  away  from  the  beach.  I 
didn't  want  to  hear  any  thing  more  about  it.  It  was  hell 
to  know  that  she  was  bound  to  that  ugly  old  brute  and  that 
he  was  beating  her  till  she  screamed,  yet  had  I  the  right  to 
interfere?  The  cave  man  in  me  said  yes.  He  would  have 
liked  going  after  her,  beating  tlie  other  man's  resistance 
down,  and  taking  her  away.  But  I  was  not  a  cave  man  and 
I  hoisted  my  anchor  and  set  my  sails,  and  my  ship  sailed 
out  of  the  inlet  before  the  evening  breeze.  As  I  sat  at  the 
tiller  that  night,  the  midnight  sun,  illuminating  the  sky  with 
many  colors  and  glowing  on  the  glistening  peaks  of  the 
mountains,  touched  my  dreams ;  I  dreamed  of  love  and  hap- 
piness and  my  dream  mate  was  white  and  had  pink,  very 
pink  cheeks  and  her  name  was  Marian.  Yet,  it  seemed  at 
times  that  I  heard  an  Indian  girl  screaming  in  the  night. 

I  reached  Haines  early  in  the  morning  and  cast  anchor 
by  the  beach  where  my  camp  was.  I  was  tired,  so  I  went 
into  my  tent  and  slept  till  noon. 

Now  I  am  all  ready  to  sail  for  Viking's  Cove  in  the  Vi- 
king ship.  My  nets  and  provisions  are  aboard  and  to-mor- 
row morning,  if  there  is  a  north  breeze,  I  set  sail  for  home 
once  more. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

A  SMALL  FORTUNE  IN  SALMON  FISHING 

Viking's  Cove. 
July  5.  1916. 

1WOKE  up  in  the  middle  of  the  night  and  looked  out  to 
see  how  the  weather  was.  A  north  breeze  was  blowing 
which  was  good  weather  for  me,  so  I  got  up,  packed  my 
things  into  my  boat,  hoisted  the  anchor,  set  sail  and  glided 
out  of  the  bay  into  the  fiord  to  the  southward,  taken  partly 
by  the  outgoing  tide  and  partly  by  the  light  breeze  that 
pushed  me  slowly  and  smoothly  along.  Toward  morning, 
when  the  sun  had  risen  above  the  mountains  in  the  north- 
east, it  became  calmer  and  I  fell  asleep  there  in  the  stem  of 
the  boat  and  didn't  wake  up  till  the  middle  of  the  forenoon, 
when  I  found  that  I  had  drifted  several  miles  and  was 
stranded  on  Battery  Point.  I  had  caftiped  here  several 
times  before,  and  after  I  had  shoved  by  ship  off  and  anch- 
ored her  in  a  safe,  deep  berth,  I  rowed  my  skiff  ashore  and 
cooked  breakfast  for  the  pups  and  me. 

In  the  afternoon  when  the  tide  turned  I  drifted  out  with 
it,  helping  with  my  oars  as  well  as  I  could.  In  the  evening 
I  reached  Viking's  Cove  and  cast  anchor. 

I  carried  my  stuff  ashore  and  pitched  camp  in  the  g^rassy 
edge  of  the  woods.  That  same  evening  I  set  my  nets  out 
in  the  good  place  that  my  neighbor  had  told  me  about.  It 
was  not  yet  time  to  go  to  bed  when  I  got  through  with  that, 
so  I  decided  to  go  up  into  my  clearing  and  see  how  my 
slashing  would  bum.  We  had  had  dry  weather  for  a  couple 
of  weeks  and  everything  was  pretty  well  dried  out.  I  made 
a  dozen  small  fires  and  they  soon  spread  till  the  flames 
roared  and  leaped  away  up  into  the  air ;  they  crackled  and 

225 


226  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

snapped  and  threw  coals  and  cinders  till  I  thought  I  had 
made  a  terrible  mistake  and  was  about  to  set  the  whole 
country  afire.  Before  long  a  tongue  of  flame  stretched  out 
toward  the  spruce  woods  and  the  dry  moss  on  the  ground 
began  to  bum.  I  ran  for  the  spring  and  brought  a  bucket 
full  of  water,  but  that  did  no  good  at  all.  Then  I  remem- 
bered that  when  I  was  in  the  army  we  had  put  out  a  grass 
fire  with  wet  gunny  sacks,  so  I  fetched  another  bucket  of 
water,  a  sack  and  set  to  work.  I  beat  up  and  down  along  the 
edge  of  the  woods,  putting  out  fire  after  fire  all  night  long, 
and  succeeded  in  keeping  the  woods  from  catching  fire.  It 
seemed,  though,  that  no  sooner  did  I  have  one  fire  out,  than 
another  one  started  somewhere  else.  Toward  morning  the 
big  long  brush  piles  had  all  burned  out  and  there  were  no 
more  fire  sparks  flying  around,  but  there  was  one  place 
where  the  fire  had  eaten  down  into  the  mossy  bottom  and 
had  worked  underground  for  quite  a  distance  into  the 
woods.  I  could  see  the  smoke  coming  up  through  the  moss 
and  around  the  roots  of  several  trees  and  somehow  I  could 
not  put  it  out.  I  had  pick,  shovel  and  ax.  and  I  dug  and 
chopped  and  dug  and  shoveled  the  mossy  ground  out  of  the 
woods,  but  the  darned  fire  kept  right  on  smoking  and  work- 
ing its  way  deeper  in.  At  last  I  was  tired  out  and  gave  it 
up,  consoling  myself  by  saying  that  if  it  was  ordained  that 
those  woods  were  to  burn,  they  would  burn  in  spite  of  me. 
I  went  down  on  the  beach  and  was  about  to  go  to  bed, 
when  I  remembered  that  I  had  my  nets  out.  I  looked  down 
that  way  and  started.  What  was  that?  One  of  my  nets,  I 
could  see,  had  drifted  and  half  of  it  was  up  on  the  shore,  but 
what  were  those  shining  things  in  it  ?  I  got  into  my  skiff  and 
rowed  down  there.  I  hardly  dared  believe  that  there  were 
salmon  in  the  net,  but  as  I  drew  my  boat  nearer  and  the 
things  looked  more  and  more  like  fish,  I  received  new 
strength.  I  worked  along  the  net  from  the  outside  and 
took  out  sixteen  salmon.  They  fought  and  wiggled  with 
their  tails  as  I  took  them  out  of  the  net,  one  by  one,  and  it 
was  no  easy  job,  but,  oh,  how  pretty  they  were.     They 


A  FORTUNE  IN  SALMON  227 

seemed  like  a  whole  fortune  to  me  as  they  lay  there  glisten- 
ing in  the  bottom  of  the  boat.  Then  I  put  the  net  out  in 
good  shape  again  and  rowed  to  the  next  cove  to  Jook  at  my 
other  net.  It,  too,  had  drifted  and  I  took  ten  salmon  out 
of  it  and  put  it  back  where  it  belonged.  Then  I  rowed 
back  and  put  all  the  fish  in  the  Viking  ship  and  went  in  to 
camp  to  get  breakfast.  There  was  a  big  smoke  coming  out 
of  the  woods,  and  as  soon  as  I  had  eaten,  I  took  a  bucket 
of  water  up  to  the  place  and  fought  fire  again  for  several 
hours.  When  I  had  the  thing  almost  out  and  there  were 
only  a  few  small  smokes  rising  from  the  moss  here  and 
there,  I  went  back  down  to  the  beach,  cooked  a  meal  and 
ate. 

Evidently  my  nets  were  not  put  out  right,  for  when  I 
rowed  out  to  them  after  I  had  eaten,  I  found  that  they  had 
both  drifted  in  again.  I  got  twenty  more  salmon,  however, 
making  a  total  of  forty-six.  I  had  to  take  in  the  nets  and 
put  them  out  again,  which  took  me  fully  three  hours,  and 
when  I  got  back  to  the  beach,  the  fire  in  the  woods  was 
going  again,  fanned  by  a  south  wind  that  threatened  to^ 
spread  through  the  whole  woods.  There  was  no  alterna- 
tive. I  ate  some  hardtack  and  a  can  of  meat,  then  went  up 
there  and  dug  and  dug  and  stamped  out  the  fires  and  swore, 
till  toward  evening  I  was  all  worn  out.  The  fire  wasn't  out 
yet  but  I  gave  up  the  struggle  and  went  back  down  to  my 
tent  and  slept.  I  looked  out  in  the  middle  of  the  night  to 
see  how  things  were,  and  my  fire  had  gone  completely  out. 
Then  I  slept. 

It  was  well  along  in  the  next  day  before  I  was  rested 
enough  to  go  out  to  my  nets.  They  were  both  on  the  beach 
but  there  were  thirty-seven  salmon  in  them  and  I  began  to 
think  that  I  was  quite  a  fisherman.  The  cannery  boat  came 
and  I  proudly  pitched  my  catch  on  board  to  the  captain's 
great  surprise,  for  no  one  else  had  caught  any  yet.  That 
was  yesterday  and  to-day  I  took  out  one  hundred  and  eleven 
salmon.  If  this  keeps  up  I  may  be  able  to  go  south  to  Mar- 
ian this  coming  winter. 


228  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

Viking's  Cove. 
July  lo,   1916. 

I  have  caught  five  hundred  fifty  silvery-sided  salmon  and 
I  am  getting  rich  fast.  They  just  come  and  come  unceas- 
ingly. At  first  my  nets  kept  drifting  but  I  put  larger  rocks 
on  for  anchors  and  now  they  are  secure  enough.  It  is  nice 
calm  weather  and  the  cork  lines  of  my  nets  are  stretched, 
beautifully  arched  in  the  sunshine  out  there  in  the  coves. 
Whenever  a  salmon  gets  tangled  in  them,  they  bob  and  jerk 
back  and  forth.  There  must  have  been  five  that  struck  the 
net  while  I  was  looking  at  it  this  morning,  but  I  only  took 
out  ten  fish. 

I  received  a  lot  of  letters  when  the  cannery  boat  came 
for  my  fish  yesterday  and  one  of  them  was  from  Marian. 
She  had  written  that  she  was  thinking  quite  strongly  of  com- 
ing up  to  this  country  with  Martha  and  her  husband,  but 
now  her  plans  are  changed,  for  Martha  cannot  come.  I 
must  say  that  I  am  glad  that  she  is  not  coming  this  summer. 
Theoretically  it  is  all  right  and  fine  for  the  young  married 
couple  to  build  their  home  together,  but  I  have  doubts  about 
its  working  out  in  practice ;  at  least,  I  hardly  think  it  would 
work  out  here.  I  have  but  recently  come  out  of  jail  and 
I  am  not  yet  estabished  as  a  real  human  being.  They  don't 
ask  me  to  come  to  their  parties  or  their  dances.  I  still  feel 
that  I  am  ostracized  on  account  of  my  criminal  record  and  it 
would  hardly  be  fair  to  bring  a  young  bride  to  a  commun- 
ity where  one  is  not  sure  that  the  people  will  treat  her  well 
because  of  her  husband's  past.  Yet,  if  I  had  a  bit  of  land 
cleared  and  a  cabin  built  and  enough  money  to  live  a  while,  I 
might,  if  she  were  willing,  take  a  chance  on  my  faith  that 
man  is  good  and  wants  to  do  the  right  thing. 

The  weather  was  wonderful  this  morning,  calm,  clear  and 
cool.  As  I  looked  about  me  after  I  had  taken  my  plunge, 
I  was  thrilled  by  the  greatness,  the  vastness,  the  beauty  of 
this  wonderful  land.  The  sun  had  risen  over  a  distant  row 
of  mountain  peaks  in  the  northeast  and  shone  on  the  snow 
upon  their  crests  and  the  glossy,  wet  sides  of  the  great  can- 


A  FORTUNE  IN  SALMON  229 

yons  everywhere,  no  matter  where  I  turned.  The  scenery 
from  my  beach  is  far  more  beautiful  than  any  picture  I 
have  ever  seen.  I  could  see  each  peak  and  canyon  and 
cranny,  oh,  so  clearly,  and  then  the  dark  green,  stately 
spruce  woods,  streaked  with  the  light  leaves  of  birch  and 
willows  and  splotched  with  soft  green  velvet  of  alder 
patches,  the  black,  sleek  peaks  towering  to  the  sky,  and  the 
blue-green  glaciers  in  the  upper  canyons,  contrasting  splen- 
didly with  the  big  spots  of  unmelted  white  snow.  I  have 
this  to  look  at  every  day  and  yet  it  doesn't  grow  old.  I  can 
go  out  any  time  and  be  filled  to  the  brim  with  the  beauty 
of  it.  It  is  mine  and  it  is  priceless  and  I  am  rich  with  it. 
I  will  need  no  landscapes  on  the  walls  of  my  home;  only 
large  windows  that  will  let  in  the  light  and  air,  and  the 
outside  that  is  so  beautiful  that  any  picture  ever  painted 
would  be  dwarfed  by  it. 

The  tide  is  full  now  and  my  Viking  ship  lies  out  there  at 
anchor  in  the  cove,  long,  slim  graceful;  much  like  the  pic- 
tures I  have  seen  of  Viking  ships.  I  wonder  if  I  was  a  Vi- 
king in  the  long,  long  ago.  Sometimes  when  I  roam  about 
here  in  the  bay,  there  come  strange  memories  to  me  as  if. 
in  the  distant  past  I  did  these  same  things. 

A  shadow  has  fallen  over  the  earth,  for  it  is  nearly  eleven 
o'clock  and  the  sun  has  sunk  below  the  mountains  to  the 
northward.  It  is  not  dark  yet,  it  won't  be  till  next  month, 
but  it  is  really  night,  for  the  owls  are  hooting  in  the  woods 
and  all  the  other  birds  are  asleep. 


Vikingf  s  Cove. 
July  29,  1916. 
I  have  often  heard  that  the  more  a  man  gets  the  more  he 
wants  and  I  have  been  wondering  if  I  am  getting  to  be  self- 
ish like  that.  I  have  been  catching  all  kinds  of  fish  lately. 
My  score  is  up  to  the  two  thousand  mark  and  I  am  the  high 
man  in  the  fleet.  It  has  been  a  poor  year  for  the  other  fish- 
ermen and  when  my  success  became  known  there  was  a 
stampede  for  this  part  of  the  fiord.    For  the  last  week  there 


230  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

have  been  about  twenty  boats  fishing  in  my  bay  and 
up  ahead  along  the  peninsula.  They  all  have  drift  nets  and 
can  put  them  out  any  place  and  have  them  drifting  along 
with  the  tide.  Ever  since  they  came,  they  have  caught  all 
the  fish  and  I  haven't  had  a  single  salmon.  I  don't  expect 
to  catch  any  as  long  as  they  are  here.  Of  course  I  have 
made  three  hundred  dollars  this  month  and  ought  to  be 
satisfied  to  let  the  other  fellows  make  some  money,  too,  but, 
nevertheless,  I  feel  as  if  I  were  being  cheated  when  I  see 
them  pick  up  their  nets  off  my  point  and  take  a  boatload  of 
salmon  out  of  them.  One  night  when  a  boat  was  fishing 
right  inside  of  my  bay  and  there  was  real  danger  of  their 
net  getting  tangled  with  mine,  I  thought  I  would  play  a 
joke  on  them.  The  natives  here  are  very  superstitious,  so 
about  midnight  when  it  was  pretty  dark,  I  sneaked  along 
the  beach  to  the  place  that  was  nearest  them  and  then  I 
screamed  a  scream  that  was  so  horrible  it  made  my  own 
hair  stand  on  end,  The  Indians  had  been  engaged  in  earnest 
conversation  but  after  I  made  that  noise,  the  bay  was  as 
still  as  death.  I  waited  a  little  while  longer  and  then  I  gave 
another  blood  curdling  yell  that  echoed  from  one  side  of  the 
bay  to  the  other  in  the  most  hideous  way.  One  of  the  na- 
tives called  in  a  shaky  voice  asking  what  was  the  matter  in 
there.  Then  all  was  perfectly  silent.  After  a  few  minutes 
I  gave  a  few  catcalls  and  ended  with  a  screech  that  would 
have  done  credit  to  a  full  grown  mountain  lion.  That  was 
too  much  for  my  credulous  visitors,  and  they  pulled  in  their 
net  faster  than  anybody  else  I  have  ever  seen.  Soon  their 
engine  was  putt-putting  away  down  the  fiord  as  they 
searched  for  a  quieter  stopping  place.  That  gave  me  some 
satisfaction,  and  even  though  I  didn't  get  one  single  fish  the 
next  day,  I  couldn't  help  chuckling  when  I  thought  about  it. 
I  have  begun  my  house  up  by  Odin's  Lake.  First,  I 
picked  out  a  good  flat  place  near  a  rocky  bluff,  then  I 
cleared  it  of  brush  and  imagined  a  cabin  standing  there.  It 
looked  good.  A  lot  of  young  spruces  stood  all  around,  rang- 
ing from  six  inches  to  a  foot  in  diameter.    I  began  to  fell 


A  FORTUNE  IN  SALMON  231 

them,  trimming  them  and  piling  the  branches  in  great  heaps. 
I  need  only  a  few  trees  more  to  have  enough  for  the  cabin. 
When  I  row  along  the  beach  I  see  all  kinds  of  lumber  that 
has  drifted  from  goodness  knows  where  and  is  lying  among 
the  seaweed  and  other  driftage,  I  take  this  lumber  to  my 
beach  where  I  have  it  piled  according  to  size,  shape  and 
condition.  Every  time  I  go  up  to  the  lake,  I  take  a  load 
of  lumber  with  me  and  soon  there  will  be  enough  for  floor 
and  ceiling.  Thus,  by  using  logs  and  driftwood,  it  is  easy 
to  cut  down  my  lumber  bill  to  nothing  at  all. 

I  have  cleared  a  little  space  in  my  slashing,  and  as  it  is  too 
late  to  put  in  a  garden,  I  will  spend  my  time  grubbing 
stumps  and  burning  brush,  so  that  next  summer  I  can  start 
in  early  to  put  a  crop  in  some  of  my  ground.  I  am  really 
proud  of  my  work  when  I  stand  in  my  clearing  and  look 
about  at  the  burned  brush  piles  and  the  many  stumps  that 
I  have  already  torn  from  their  grasp  in  the  soil.  This 
clearing  is  the  greatest  thing  I  have  ever  accomplished. 
When  I  look  at  it,  it  seems  almost  impossible  that  one  man 
could  do  so  much  in  so  short  a  time;  my  heart  fills  with 
the  joy  of  achievement  and  when  I  think  of  how  I  can  make 
this  land  into  a  smooth,  velvet  field  of  clover  and  of  the  two 
hundred  odd  acres  up  there  around  the  lake  that  can  be 
made  into  farm  land,  I  could  cry  with  the  joy  of  it.  I 
wouldn't  change  my  place  for  the  finest  job  in  the  finest 
city  on  earth.  When  things  are  growing  on  the  land,  things 
to  eat  and  things  to  sell,  I  shall  be  independent,  and  how 
much  better  off  than  the  people  who  live  in  cities  and  huddle 
together  in  smoke,  lacking  the  clean  things  of  life  1  I  can- 
not see  how  any  one  can  possibly  like  to  live  in  a  smoky 
city  when  there  are  such  good  places  like  this  to  be  had  for 
the  taking.  But  men  are  not  all  alike  and  I  remember  one 
fellow  down  in  Los  Angeles  who  said  that  it  must  be  ter- 
rible to  be  out  alone  away  from  everybody.  "What  if  you 
should  get  sick?"  he  had  said,  and  I  laughed  and  said  one 
did  not  get  sick  out  like  that. 

I  have  had  a  dickens  of  a  time  teaching  my  dogs  that 


232  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

my  tent  is  a  sacred  place  wherein  no  dog  may  enter.  When- 
ever I  left  my  camp  and  there  was  a  chance  to  get  in,  in 
they  would  go  and  grab  everything  in  sight.  One  day  I  tied 
a  rope  about  the  neck  of  each  of  them,  letting  about  six  feet 
of  it  drag  behind.  I  left  the  tent,  and  no  sooner  was  I  out 
of  sight,  than  the  pups  rushed  in.  I  hurried  back,  getting 
there  in  time  to  get  hold  of  both  ropes  and  I  jerked  them  out 
backwards  as  violently  as  I  could.  Talk  about  ki-yi-ing! 
One  would  think  they  were  being  slaughtered,  inch  by  inch. 
They  knew  they  had  done  wrong,  and  when  I  took  the  ropes 
off,  they  went  to  their  kennels  and  stayed  there  a  long  while. 
That  one  experience  was  enough  for  them  and  they  haven't 
bothered  my  tent  since. 


CHAPTER  XX 

LONELY  IN   SKAGWAY  ' 

Viking's  Cove. 
Aug.  21,  1916. 
Jk  Jfy  fishing  is  over  for  the  season.  I  have  had  bad  luck 
\\m  these  last  three  weeks.  It  has  been  blowing,  blow- 
f*"  ■*'  ing,  blowing!  First,  the  Indians  came  and  lay  out 
in  front  of  my  nets  and  caught  all  the  fish,  then  the  storm 
came  and  drove  them  away  and  I  thought  that  I  would  get 
some  fish,  but  all  I  got  was  sticks,  logs,  seaweed  and  every- 
thing that  drifts  on  the  tide.  My  nets  got  torn  to  shreds 
and  were  practically  all  gone  two  weeks  ago,  so  it's  no  won- 
der I  didn't  catch  any  fish. 

Last  week,  however,  came  the  crowning  mishap  of  them 
all.  I  had  gone  over  to  my  neighbor's  ranch  across  the  pen- 
insula on  Pleasant  Cove  and  was  having  a  good  time.  It 
was  Sunday  and  my  nets  were  spread  on  the  racks  to  dry. 
A  heavy  gale  was  blowing  and  I  shouldn't  have  left  my  cove 
for  there  was  no  telling  what  might  happen  to  my  Viking 
ship  riding  there  at  anchor,  but  I  had  the  visiting  mood  and 
went  any  way.  While  we  were  eating  dinner  a  boy  who 
was  vsiting  at  my  Flat  Bay  neighbor's  ranch,  came  run- 
ning over  and  told  me  breathlessly  that  the  Viking  ship  was 
adrift  and  going  up  the  bay.  I  got  up  and  ran  as  fast  as  I 
could  through  the  woods  toward  my  own  side  of  the 
peninsula.  At  Flat  Bay  I  saw  my  ship  drifting  toward  the 
rocks  on  the  opposite  point.  A  small,  leaky  skiff  lay  on  the 
beach  and  I  pulled  it  down  and  got  in.  Great  breakers  were 
rolling  in  over  the  beach  but  I  got  the  skiff  through  them  all 
right.    Then  I  rowed  as  fast  as  I  could,  but  it  was  a  long 

233 


234  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

way  out  to  her  and  she  was  very  close  to  the  other  point.  I 
rowed  frantically  but  my  Viking  ship  was  doomed.  Had 
I  reached  her,  I  doubt  if  I  could  have  handled  her  and  I 
might  have  gone  down  with  her.  She  drifted  sideways  onto 
a  point  of  jagged  rock  before  a  high  cliff.  The  breakers 
caught  her  and  lifted  her  high  up  on  the  rocks ;  her  bottom 
struck  and  she  rolled  over,  her  mast  breaking.  Then  she 
was  dashed  against  the  side  of  the  cliff  and  disappeared.  I 
fancied  I  could  hear  the  sickening  crash  as  she  was  flung  to 
her  destruction  and  my  heart  sank.  I  hadn't  noticed  that 
the  little  skiff  I  was  in  was  almost  full  of  water  and  that 
I  had  nothing  to  bail  with.  When  I  discovered  this,  the  loss 
of  the  Viking  ship  was  forgotten  in  my  immediate  peril.  I 
made  for  the  nearest  cove  regardless  of  the  great  breakers 
rolling  in  on  the  beach  and  I  was  so  glad  to  escape  with  my 
life,  that  I  was  less  sorry  over  the  loss  of  the  Viking. 

When  the  storm  abated,  I  went  over  there  and  found  her 
broken  into  a  hundred  pieces,  scattered  over  a  mile  of 
beach.  I  salvaged  her  rigging  and  sails  and  one  of  her 
oars,  but  the  rest  of  her  was  lost. 

I  caught  only  a  few  fish  after  that  and  have  sent  word  to 
the  cannery  that  I  am  going  to  quit  for  the  season.  I  was 
in  town  yesterday  and  was  offered  a  job  on  a  new  bank 
building  that  is  going  up  in  Skagway.  It  is  a  four  dollar  a 
day  job  and  will  last  two  months.  I  accepted  it  and  am 
making  ready  to  leave,  packing  up  the  stuff  I  will  take  and 
cacheing  the  rest  in  the  woods  where  no  beach-combing 
pirates  will  be  liable  to  find  them  and  spirit  them  away  to 
second  hand  stores  in  Juneau.  As  soon  as  the  cannery  boat 
has  come  to  take  my  nets,  I  will  load  my  blanket  roll  into  my 
skiff  and  row  to  Chilkoot  cannery  to  get  my  pay ;  and  from 
there  I  will  row  to  Skagway. 

When  I  was  in  Haines,  I  saw  Mike,  the  Irishman  from 
the  jail.  He  had  risen  to  a  position  next  to  that  of  the 
assistant  superintendent  in  the  mine  and  then  he  had  begun 
to  drink.  He  had  become  worse  and  worse  and  at  last  they 
had  fired  him.     Then  he  had  gone  on  one  grand  drunk, 


LONELY  IN  SKAGWAY  235 

emerging  therefrom  broke,  down  and  out.  The  marshal 
had  notified  him  that  he  was  an  undesirable  and  would  have 
to  leave  town.  Mike  had  heard  that  I  was  doing  well  in 
Haines,  so  he  had  stowed  away  on  a  boat  and  reached  there 
on  the  day  I  came  in  from  the  ranch.  I  gave  him  all  the 
money  I  had  on  hand  so  he  would  have  enough  to  go  down 
to  the  states.  Poor  Mike !  I  am  for  prohibition  and  if  I 
ever  vote  on  that  question  I  will  make  a  great  big  cross  on 
the  dry  side  of  the  column. 


Skagway,  Alaska. 
Aug.  26,  1916. 

Once  more  I  am  in  the  town  where  I  met  my  Waterloo. 
The  cannery  boat  came  and  took  away  my  nets,  and  the 
next  morning  early,  before  the  sun  was  up,  I  started  out 
from  Viking's  Cove,  my  dogs  at  my  feet  and  the  little  white 
cat  that  one  of  my  neighbors  gave  me  some  time  ago  perched 
daintily  on  my  blanket  roll.  It  was  a  fine,  calm  day  and  I 
rowed  straight  through  to  the  cannery,  sharing  some  bread 
and  cheese  with  my  family  on  the  way.  The  trip  was  un- 
eventful. We  reached  Chilkoot  Inlet  in  the  evening,  and 
after  receiving  my  money,  I  started  immediately  for  Skag- 
way, rowing  all  night  through  the  long,  narrow  fiord  that 
cleaves  two  great  mountain  ranges  and  is  the  end  of  Lynn 
Canal.  We  reached  our  destination  early  in  the  morning. 
I  rented  a  small  shack  and  installed  my  family,  Fanny  and 
Towser  in  the  woodshed,  and  the  kitty  in  the  house. 

This  is  Saturday  night,  I  have  been  here  three  days,  the 
loneliest  three  days  I  have  ever  spent  in  my  life.  Right  in 
the  midst  of  one's  own  kind,  to  be  alone,  absolutely  alone  I 
Most  of  the  people  here  seem  to  know  me  and  they  nudge 
one  another  as  I  pass  along  the  street.  "That's  him,"  I  can 
fairly  hear  them  say.  "That's  Norman,  the  burglar,  the  jail 
breaker."  Yet  that  side  of  it  doesn't  bother  me  so  much. 
They  have  a  right  to  think  what  they  please.  It  is  the  feel- 
ing of  being  alone  that  gets  me.  Oh,  I  wish  I  were  back 
home  in  my  cove,  away  from  the  cold,  indiflFerent  town. 


236  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

There  the  woods  are  like  kind  people  to  me,  the  sun  shines 
through  them  and  lights  the  deep  ferns  on  the  hillsides.  The 
robins  hop  about  in  my  clearing  unafraid  and  trusting  and 
sing  to  me  in  the  evening  when  I  am  lying  in  my  tent.  Well, 
I'll  be  there  again  before  very  long.  To  write  about  it  gives 
me  cheer  and  it  is  not  so  bad,  after  all.  I  have  my  cat  and 
dogs  at  least,  and  that  is  more  than  most  working  stiffs  have. 
My  cat  lies  on  my  lap  right  now  and  purrs  and  purrs  and 
the  dogs  are  not  a  bit  stingy  about  showing  their  affection. 
They  love  me,  these  friends,  for  I  feed  them  and  am  kind 
to  them.  They  cry  and  howl  pitifully  when  I  go  to  work 
leaving  them  locked  up  in  the  yard  and  the  house.  I  lost 
Fanny  the  first  day  I  was  here.  She  had  never  seen  so 
many  people  before  and  was  very  much  bewildered ;  when  a 
train  came  rumbling  in  and  the  locomotive  whistled  shrilly, 
it  was  too  much  for  her  and  she  went  like  a  streak  in  the 
opposite  direction.  I  searched  and  searched  for  her,  hiring 
a  bunch  of  kids  to  help  me,  but  she  was  gone  and  finally  I 
gave  it  up  altogether.  Then,  in  the  evening  when  I  walked 
along  whistling  the  call  she  knows  so  well,  I  heard  a  whim- 
per from  somewhere.  I  called  her  and  looked  under  the 
nearby  houses  but  there  was  no  Fanny  to  be  seen.  Yet  I 
could  plainly  hear  her  whimper.  At  last  I  found  her  under 
a  sidewalk,  though  how  she  had  managed  to  get  in  there 
was  a  mystery,  for  she  could  neither  get  further  in,  nor 
back  out,  and  I  had  to  take  up  the  boards  of  the  walk  to  free 
her.  How  she  wriggled  and  waggled  and  wagged  her  tail 
when  I  got  her  out !  And  I  was  just  as  happy  as  she  was. 
To-morrow  is  Sunday  and  I  am  going  to  the  church  to 
hear  the  organ  play.  I  have  only  my  overalls  and  mack- 
inaw  to  wear  but  that  can't  be  helped,  and  if  the  other  peo- 
ple don't  like  my  appearance,  they  don't  need  to  look  at  me. 
I  wonder  if  they  will  always  be  cold  and  unfriendly  to  me 
even  after  I  get  married,  if  that  ever  happens.  Somehow, 
I  am  beginning  to  feel  the  ground  slip  from  under  ray  feet 
with  her.  She  seems  so  far  away  and  there  are  so  many  ob- 
stacles before  me.    She  doesn't  write  as  often  as  before  and 


LONELY  IN  SKAGWAY  237 

neither  do  I,  and  that  only  in  a  desultory  manner.  There 
seems  to  be  little  to  write  about.  What  more  natural  than 
that  she  should  find  some  one  down  there  whom  she  could 
love  ?  Oh,  I  have  a  sinking  sensation  when  I  think  of  that ! 
I  am  not  enough  of  an  optimist  evidently.  I  make  the  worst 
of  things.  She  writes  me  that  she  does  not  love  anybody 
else;  and  that  there  is  no  danger  of  that  and  asks  me  to 
come  down ;  then  right  away  I  imagine  that  I  am  losing  out. 
I  think  I'll  stay  up  here  another  winter  and  not  go  south 
till  I  have  the  house  built  and  the  land  productive  enough  to 
support  a  family.  Oh,  but  I  wish  I  were  back  home  on  the 
ranch  where  I  never  feel  as  lonesome  as  I  do  now!  It  is 
after  ten  and  the  night  is  very  dark  outside.  My  dogs  out 
there  are  barking  at  some  other  dogs.  They  don't  seem  to 
be  able  to  understand  the  city  dwellers,  either. 


Skagway,  Alaska. 
Sept.  7,  1916. 
I  have  been  standing  up  to  my  ankles  in  water,  working 
on  the  foundation  of  the  bank  all  day,  and  now,  after  eat- 
ing my  supper  of  lettuce,  cheese  and  bread,  I  am  sitting 
with  my  feet  in  the  oven  of  the  stove,  trying  to  find  out  how 
it  feels  to  have  really  warm  feet  once  more.  As  my  feet 
get  warmer,  I  begin  to  forget  the  hardships  that  are  the 
daily  lot  of  the  worker  and  I  try  to  think  of  something  to 
write  in  my  diary.  It  is  remarkable  how  little  I  am  expe- 
riencing these  days.  I  work  on  the  building  with  men  all 
around  me  and  I  ought  to  be  learning  all  kinds  of  new 
things,  but  I  am  not.  It  is  not  that  I  haven't  made  friends 
with  the  other  men ;  I  have,  but  that  does  not  make  me  a  bit 
less  lonesome.  I  am  beginning  to  believe  that  it  is  my  own 
fault.  The  men  are  friendly  enough  and  some  of  them 
really  like  me,  at  least  I  think  they  do.  One  of  them  offered 
to  lend  me  one  of  his  suits  of  clothes  so  I  could  go  to  a  dance 
with  him,  and  surely  that  is  a  sign  of  good  will.  But  in 
spite  of  that,  the  men  fail  to  interest  me.  I  find  myself 
thinking  of  other  things  when  they  spin  their  yams  and  tell 


238  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

their  jokes  to  me.  It  is  not  that  the  things  I  think  about 
are  so  very  important,  for  I  just  dream  along,  thinking  of 
this  and  that,  mostly  about  Marian  and  Viking's  Cove. 
When  I  was  in  jail  I  had  no  difficulty  in  listening  to  the  oth- 
er prisoners'  tales  of  woe  and  I  was  really  interested  in 
them  and  their  point  of  view,  but  these  men  have  nothing 
of  interest  to  tell  and  my  mind  wanders  off  into  my  own 
thoughts  as  they  talk.  Maybe  they  have  been  working  hard 
all  their  lives  and  can  only  think  of  little  cheap  jokes,  dances 
'and  such  things;  but  then  it  may  also  be  that  I  have  been 
alone  too  much  and  have  developed  the  habits  of  a  hermit. 
If  this  is  so,  then  I  am  not  the  kind  of  a  man  who  ought 
to  marry.  I  could  never  make  a  woman  happy  going  about 
wrapped  up  in  my  own  thoughts.  She  would  soon  tire  of 
me  and  begin  to  long  for  congenial  companionship.  She 
would  be  far  more  lonesome  than  I  have  ever  been  and 
our  life  would  either  be  without  sympathy  and  understand- 
ing, those  things  that  are  so  necessary  to  human  happiness, 
or  we  would  drift  apart  and  be  divorced.  I  am  getting  the 
habit  of  looking  at  the  black  side  of  things  and  am  begin- 
ning to  imagine  all  sorts  of  foolish  things,  such  as,  for  ex- 
ample, that  I  have  not  one  real  friend  in  the  world.  I  know 
that  this  is  not  so,  for  the  missionary  at  Klukwan  was  my 
friend  and  many,  many  people  offered  to  help  me  when  I 
was  in  trouble.  Even  the  jailer  tried  to  get  me  a  parole. 
One  day  about  a  month  or  so  ago  down  on  the  ranch,  two 
soldiers  came  down  to  fish  in  the  lake.  We  talked  of  this 
and  that,  and  for  some  reason  or  other  I  remarked  that  not 
so  very  long  ago  I  had  been  in  jail  without  a  penny,  so  to 
speak,  and  without  a  real  friend  in  the  world.  One  of  the 
soldiers  looked  disgustedly  at  me  as  if  to  say  I  was  the 
darndest  liar  he  had  even  seen.  He  told  me  that  he  had 
been  at  Fort  Seward  when  I  had  broken  out  and  that  as  far 
as  he  could  see,  I  had  a  lot  of  friends  there.  Everybody 
there  had  spoken  well  of  me  and  had  expressed  a  willing- 
ness to  help  me  out  if  they  got  the  chance.  "You  would 
rather  steal  than  beg,"  he  said,  "and  I  like  a  man  like  that." 


LONELY  IN  SKAGWAY  239 

This,  of  course,  was  very  nice  of  him  to  say,  though  at 
at  the  time  it  embarrassed  me,  and  I  had  to  admit  that  the 
last  part  of  my  statement  was  not  true,  but  that  what  I 
meant  to  say  was  that  I  felt  as  though  I  hadn't  a  friend  in 
the  world.  I  had  been  quite  cheered  up  and  at  peace  for  a 
few  days,  and  then  a  young  lad  from  Haines  and  two  young 
ladies  had  come  up  to  fish  in  the  lake.  I  was  up  there  fell- 
ing trees  for  my  house  and  they  went  right  past  me  without 
even  saying  hello.  Immediately  I  imagined  that  they  looked 
down  on  me  and  considered  me  so  low  that  they  wouldn't 
even  say  good-day  to  me,  though  they  came  to  fish  in  my 
lake.  It  made  me  very  down-hearted  and  I  wondered  if  I 
would  ever  be  considered  decent  enough  for  a  girl  to  speak 
to.  I  was  also  angry  with  them  for  coming  and  disturb- 
ing my  peace  of  mind  and  I  determined  to  nail  a  sign  on  one 
of  the  trees  by  the  trail,  saying  that  if  the  owner  of  this 
place  was  not  worthy  of  being  greeted,  decency  should  com- 
pel people  not  to  trespass. 

Then,  after  I  had  made  myself  miserable  and  lonely,  one 
of  the  ladies  came  over  and  spoke  very  nicely  to  me  and  we 
had  an  interesting  talk;  and  the  other  smiled  quite  sweetly 
when  they  went  away.  That  is  just  a  fair  example  of  how 
I  will  imagine  things.  I  suppose  that  if  I  were  to  put  on  a 
suit  of  good  clothes  and  go  out  among  people  trying  to  be 
pleasant  and  accommodating,  they  would  not  be  nearly  as 
hostile  to  me  as  I  imagine  they  are.  Thus,  it  may  be  only 
because  I  have  stood  in  water  up  to  my  ankles  all  day  and 
am  very  tired,  that  I  feel  that  I  am  an  outcast 


Skagway,  Alaska. 
Sept.  29,  1916. 
The  bank  has  grown  and  there  remains  only  the  roof  and 
a  few  fixtures  to  be  put  on.    As  it  has  grown,  I  have  grown 
with  it.     I  have  had  three  experiences,  one  that  made  me 
lonely,  one  that  made  me  feel  stung,  and  one  that  made  me 
feel  proud  of  myself. 
Every  Sunday  I  go  to  church,  both  in  the  morning  and  in 


240  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

the  evening.  It  is  not  that  I  am  getting  religion  but  because 
I  like  to  sing  and  to  listen  to  the  organ.  I  sit  in  a  comer 
near  the  door  to  be  as  inconspicuous  as  possible.  I  am  not 
of  the  same  faith  as  the  other  people  of  the  congregation, 
I  don't  even  know  that  I  have  any  faith,  so  I  don't  want  to 
impose  on  them ;  I  sit  near  the  door  so  I  can  slip  out  unno- 
ticed when  the  service  is  over.  I  make  myself  feel  justi- 
fied jn  doing  this  by  putting  a  quarter  in  the  collection  plate 
every  time  and  I  notice  they  never  forget  to  come  down  in 
my  comer  for  it,  so  I  guess  it  is  all  right  for  me  to  go 
there.  So  far,  no  one  has  ever  spoken  to  me,  except  once 
when  I  absent-mindedly  took  a  seat  up  in  the  middle  of  the 
church.  Other  people  came  in  and  sat  on  each  side  of  me, 
so  that  when  the  service  was  over,  I  had  to  wait  a  while  be- 
fore I  could  get  out.  When  I  got  to  the  door,  the  preacher 
was  there  shaking  hands  and  saying  a  few  pleasant  words  to 
each  person  passing  out.  I  was  quite  embarrassed  when  he 
took  my  hand  and  said  that  he  was  glad  to  see  me  attend 
services  so  regularly,  for  I  felt  like  a  pretender.  I  was  a 
stranger  in  town  he  supposed  and  he  asked  me  my  name. 

"Svend  Norman,"  I  said,  and  I  heard  a  lady  or  a  girl 
snicker  somewhere.  The  blood  rushed  to  my  head  and  I 
hurried  away,  deciding  not  to  go  there  again,  but  next  Sun- 
day I  was  so  darned  lonesome  and  music  hungry,  that  I 
went  anyway,  but  I  was  careful  to  take  the  seat  close  to  the 
door  where  I  could  slip  out  before  any  one  could  stop  me 
and  ask  me  embarrassing  questions.  I  suppose  the  preacher 
has  found  out  what  kind  of  a  scoundrel  I  am,  for  I  met 
him  on  my  way  from  work  the  other  day  and  he  didn't  even 
look  at  me.  But  maybe  I  am  imagining  that,  too.  It  is  so 
hard  to  tell  what  is  reality. 

There  is  going  to  be  a  dance  at  the  Elk's  hall  next  Sat- 
urday night  and  I  have  received  an  invitation  to  go.  So 
has  every  other  human  of  white  skin  in  the  town,  but  just 
the  same,  I  feel  slightly  elevated  because  they  did  not 
ignore  me  and  I  have  decided  to  go.  If  I  do  not  do  some- 
thing like  that  before  long,  I  may  become  a  hermit  and  not 


LONELY  IN  SKAGWAY  241 

fit  to  live  among  human  beings.    But  the  most  astounding 
part  of  this  thing  is  that  I  have  asked  a  girl  to  go  with  me. 

I  got  into  the  habit  of  eating  dinner  at  a  boarding  house 
where  a  lot  of  the  men  working  on  the  building  live.  We 
had  a  good  time  there  generally  for  the  crowd  was  a  very 
jolly  one.  We  were  always  arguing  and  contesting  with 
one  another  about  this  and  that  and  pulling  off  athletic 
stunts,  so  it  was  no  wonder  that  when  the  cook  announced 
one  day  that  his  two  sisters  were  coming  to  live  at  the  house, 
we  all  resolved  to  get  one  of  them  to  go  to  the  dance  and  it 
became  a  game  of  who-will-get-to-take-the-girls-to-the- 
dance.  The  boys  all  spruced  up,  bought  new  collars  and 
shirts  and  sent  their  good  clothes  to  be  freshly  pressed  by 
the  tailors.  I  wanted  to  get  a  decent  suit  of  clothes  for  a 
long  time,  and  I  thought  that  now  was  as  good  a  time  as 
any.  One  evening  I  went  down  to  a  dry  goods  store  and 
told  the  saleslady  that  I  wanted  a  good  suit  of  clothes.  At 
first  she  showed  me  some  fifteen  dollar  suits  but  I  told  her 
that  I  wanted  a  good  suit  of  clothes  and  I  didn't  mind 
paying  a  good  price  for  it.  I  wanted  a  blue  serge  or  a  gray 
suit,  but  the  serges  she  showed  me  were  all  of  poor  mater- 
ial and  I  couldn't  find  a  gray  shade  to  suit  me.  I  don't  be- 
lieve they  really  had  a  good  suit  of  clothes  in  the  store  but 
she  was  smart  and  if  it  was  an  expensive  suit  I  wanted,  she 
could  surely  sell  me  one.  She  showed  me  a  black  suit  with 
a  fine  purple  thread  running  through  it.  It  was  very  attrac- 
tive looking  to  me.  It  did  not  feel  like  very  good  goods  but 
I  liked  the  color  and  the  price  impressed  me  most  of  all.  I 
can  see  now  that  that  was  what  caused  me  to  buy  it,  even 
though  it  was  not  quite  a  fit.  The  thing  that  makes  me  sure 
that  I  was  stung  is  the  fact  that  the  honest  lady  gave  me  a 
good  silk  and  flannel  shirt,  a  pair  of  excellent  suspenders,  a 
tie  and  three  pairs  of  fancy  socks,  to  go  with  the  suit,  all 
for  nothing.  I  have  asked  other  people  who  are  in  a  position 
to  know  such  things,  what  they  think  the  suit  is  worth  and 
the  consensus  of  opinion  is  that  it  is  v^orth  about  twenty- 
five  dollars.    I  paid  a  good  deal  more  than  that  for  it,  so  I 


242  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

hardly  feel  that  I  have  made  a  very  profitable  business 
transacti(Mi. 

The  girls  came  and  the  fun  began.  As  soon  as  I  got  a 
chance  after  I  had  been  introduced,  I  asked  one  of  them  to  go 
to  the  dance  with  me  and  she  said  that  she  would.  I  thought 
that  I  had  beaten  the  other  fellows  to  it  and  I  f ek  quite  vic- 
torious about  it.  I  had  to  tell  the  others  about  it  as  we  were 
all  sitting  on  the  curb  waiting  for  the  whistle  to  blow  us 
to  work.  One  of  the  lads  became  very  angry  and  called 
me  a  liar  because  the  girl  had  promised  to  go  with  him. 
Then  another  boy  jumped  up  and  said  that  we  were  both 
fools,  for  he  had  the  inside  track  and  everything  was  ar- 
ranged. Then  we  all  laughed,  for  it  developed  that  the  girls 
had  promised  to  go  with  every  one  of  us.  Their  brother  had 
put  them  up  to  that  and  the  competition  is  as  keen  as  ever. 

I  am  rather  glad  that  I  shan't  have  to  take  either  of  them. 
When  they  first  came,  I  was  excited  and  curious  but  that 
soon  wore  ofiF.  They  were  just  like  other  girls,  good  look- 
ing, giggling  and  in  for  a  good  time.  Not  at  all  the  kind  of 
girl  I  would  want  to  marry  and  the  more  I  see  of  other  girls 
and  women,  the  more  I  realize  that  there  is  only  one  woman 
for  me.  I  was  a  little  afraid  that  I  would  have  to  take  one 
of  them  to  the  dance,  anyway,  so  I  told  one  of  the  boys  that 
I  was  just  dying  to  get  married  for  I  needed  a  wife  the 
worst  way  to  work  down  there  on  my  ranch.  I  told  him  that 
I  was  out  for  a  wife  and  would  take  most  anybody  who 
would  have  me.  This,  of  course,  was  too  rich  for  him  to 
keep  to  himself  and  it  soon  got  to  the  girls,  who  in  turn,  had 
no  use  at  all  for  me  after  that  They  could  get  me  any  time 
they  wanted  me,  so  what  was  the  use  of  chasing  me?  I 
feel  very  proud  of  myself  for  this  exploit  and  it  almost  off- 
sets my  buying  that  expensive  suit. 


Skagway,  Alaska. 
Oct  6,  1916. 
The  fall  is  here.    The  mountain  sides  are  spotted  with 
yellow  and  red  and  brown  and  the  snowline  that  a  couple  of 


LONELY  IN  SKAGWAY  243 

weeks  ago  merely  marked  a  cap  on  some  of  the  highest 

peaks,  is  now  half  way  down  the  mountainsides,  almost  to 
the  timber  line.  We  have  already  had  a  couple  of  frosts 
and  there  was  an  inch  of  ice  on  the  pools  of  water  on  the 
streets.  Winter  is  coming  fast  and  it  will  soon  be  time  for 
me  to  go  back  home  to  Viking's  Cove  to  build  my  cabin. 
Yet,  I  hesitate  to  go,  for  I  am  making  four  dollars  a  day 
and  I  oughtn't  to  leave  as  long  as  I  can  make  that. 

I  went  to  the  dance  all  right  but  I  did  not  have  a  good 
time.  I  had  quite  a  few  dances  and  my  friends  who  work 
on  the  building  were  quite  eager  to  introduce  me  to  girls,  yet 
I  did  not  feel  like  one  of  the  crowd.  I  felt  that  I  was  mute, 
a  dummy,  slow.  I  would  dance  along,  watching  the  other 
couples  merrily  swing  about,  the  men  saying  silly  things  to 
be  funny  and  the  women  giggling,  but  somehow,  I  could 
not  bring  myself  to  do  that  too.  I  felt  that  I  was  a  stranger 
in  spite  of  the  fact  that  they  all  knew  me  and  my  history, 
and  that  made  me  feel  that  I  was  not  welcome. 

I  left  the  place  early  and  went  back  to  my  shack  where 
my  dogs  and  the  cat  were  joyous  to  see  me,  and  that  gave 
me  some  comfort.  That  night  I  decided  that  it  was  not 
good  for  me  to  live  alone  and  that  I  would  not  better  my 
condition  by  doing  so,  so  I  determined  to  go  to  Viking's 
Cove,  build  a  cabin,  and  then  go  south  to  see  if  Marian  cares 
to  come  with  me.  I  want  to  see  her  before  she  goes  and 
marries  some  other  man.  She  tells  me  in  her  letters  that 
she  has  a  new  friend,  that  he  is  only  a  pal  but  I  know  that 
the  step  from  being  a  pal  to  being  a  lover  is  very  short.  I 
had  a  letter  from  Martha,  too,  and  she  urged  me  to  come 
south. 

"You  can't  leave  a  girl  alone  like  that  for  years,"  she 
wrote.  "As  long  as  you  couldn't  come,  Marian  wouldn't 
look  at  another  man,  but  now  when  you  can  and  don't,  well, 
that  is  your  lookout.  But  I  have  given  you  fair  warning." 
Those  were  her  words  and  I  am  going  to  heed  them.  I'll 
make  a  dash  for  the  south  as  soon  as  my  cabin  is  built. 


244  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

Skagway,  Alaska. 
Oct,  15,  1916. 

I  would  have  quit  here  a  few  days  ago  but  the  boss  asked 
me  to  stay  a  couple  of  weeks  longer,  and  because  he  has 
been  a  good  friend  to  me  while  I  have  been  here,  I  am  stay- 
ing and  I  am  glad  of  it,  for  I  have  had  quite  an  experience. 
It  happened  last  night. 

A  Professor  Cooper  is  in  town,  lecturing  on  phrenology. 
He  is  giving  five  free  lectures  at  the  Presbyterian  church 
and  he  gave  his  third  one  last  night.  After  each  lecture  he 
gives  a  public  reading  of  two  persons  in  the  audience  and  it 
causes  great  amusement  among  the  people  to  have  this  blind 
man  feel  of  the  men's  heads  and  tell  by  that  of  their  habits, 
ambitions,  abilities  and  shortcomings,  I  didn't  happen  to 
know  any  of  the  men  who  volunteered  the  first  two  nights 
but  I  could  tell  by  the  assenting  nods  and  the  unanimous 
laughter  that  the  professor  came  pretty  near  hitting  the  nail 
on  the  head  every  time.  Yesterday  when  we  were  talking 
about  it  at  noon,  one  of  the  fellows  dared  me  to  volunteer 
that  night  and  I  said  that  if  he  would  go  up,  too,  I  was 
game.  It  would  be  a  great  joke  to  me  to  show  the  more  or 
less  hostile  people  in  Skagway  that  I  was  not  the  criminal 
they  thought  me.  I  had  heard  the  blind  professor  lecture 
two  nights  and  I  had  faith  in  his  knowing  what  he  was  talk- 
ing about,  and  in  his  ability  to  tell  by  the  shape  of  a  man's 
head  what  his  characteristics  were  and  what  he  amounted 
to.  I  knew  darned  well  that  I  was  no  criminal  and  I  saw  a 
chance  to  prove  it. 

That  night  after  the  lecture  was  over,  when  the  professor 
asked  for  two  men  to  volunteer,  I  walked  up  the  aisle  to  the 
platform  and  sat  down.  I  had  a  little  stage  fright,  for  it 
caused  a  lot  of  whispering  in  the  hall.  Norman,  the  burglar 
and  jail  breaker  of  whom  it  was  said  that  he  was  an  anar- 
chist and  a  little  queer!  Ah,  what  a  lot  of  necks  were 
craned  as  I  sat  there  beside  the  other  man  and  faced  them 
defiantly.    I  felt  that  this  was  one  of  the  crucial  moments 


LONELY  IN  SKAGWAY  245 

of  my  life.  This  would  either  make  or  break  my  career  in 
this  part  of  the  country. 

The  blind  phrenologist  ran  his  fingers  lightly  over  my 
head  and  it  sent  a  thrill  down  my  backbone.  "Here,"  he  said 
to  the  audience,  and  an  expectant  hush  fell  over  the  room, 
"here  is  a  man  whose  chief  characteristics  are  kindness  and 
sympathy.  In  fact,  I  believe  he  is  too  sympathetic  for  his 
own  good.  If,  for  example,  he  thought  any  one  of  you  was 
in  real  need,  he  would  give  you  the  last  thing  he  had  and 
do  without  himself."  Again  he  ran  his  fingers  over  my  head : 
"He  is  capable  of  a  great  deal  of  reasoning  and  should  be 
able  to  concentrate  on  almost  any  problem.  He  is  liable 
to  become  a  socialist  on  account  of  that.  He  has  powers 
of  concentration  and  penetration  and  he  has  lots  of  de- 
termination. He  has  lots  of  grit.  Grit  is  here,  high  above 
the  ear,"  he  explained  and  turned  the  side  of  my  head  to 
the  audience.  "See  this  bump  here,  that's  grit.  He  has 
worlds  of  it  and  if  he  ever  makes  up  his  mind  to  do  anything 
hard,  he  will  do  it,  and  the  harder  it  is  for  him,  the  more 
sure  he  is  of  making  a  job  of  it." 

Then  he  turned  to  the  lad  at  my  side.  "Now,  this  man 
has  great  ability  to  be  cheerful  and  happy.  When  he  goes 
down  the  street,  I'll  bet  he  generally  whistles.  This  other 
man  is  serious,  but  this  one  makes  light  of  things;  talks, 
laughs,  and  sings  all  the  time.  When  he  gets  a  job  he  puts 
his  whole  heart  into  it  and  makes  enthusiastic  plans  for  the 
future,  great  optimistic  plans  of  what  he  is  going  to  do. 
But  he  soon  wearies  of  his  job — not  because  he  is  lazy, 
bless  me,  no,  there  is  not  a  lazy  bone  in  his  body  and  he  is 
on  the  go  all  the  time,  but  he  doesn't  like  to  stay  with  one 
thing  too  long  and  demands  plenty  of  variety  in  his  work. 
In  a  private  reading  I  can  tell  him  what  kind  of  work  he 
is  best  fitted  for."  Here  the  professor  was  hinting  that 
even  a  phrenologist  must  consider  the  high  cost  of  living. 
"Now,"  he  began  again,  "I  can't  see  these  two  men,  but  if 
I  wanted  to  fry  both  of  them,  I'd  get  the  fat  from  this  man," 
he  patted  me  on  the  shoulder,  "to  fry  this  man  in."    There 


246  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

was  much  laughter,  for  my  friend  was  very  skinny.  After 
the  laughter  had  subsided  he  gave  me  a  smart  rap  on  the 
shoulder  and  said,  "There,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  is  an 
unusually  strong  man.  He  has  an  extraordinary  individ- 
uality. He  has  powers  of  observation  and  I  am  sure  he 
has  an  insatiable  desire  to  see  everjrthing  and  to  know 
about  all  he  sees.  He  is  irresistibly  impelled  to  individualize 
things  and  will,  in  general,  see  and  understand  things  and 
actions  that  would  pass  unseen  by  most  people."  I  cannot 
remember  any  more  of  what  he  said  word  for  word,  but  he 
told  the  audience  that  I  ought  to  be  a  literary  man  and 
that  I  might  be  a  poet,  too.  He  said  that  I  had  stage  fright 
at  the  present,  but  that  I  would  get  over  that  and  that 
I  could  get  over  anjrthing  I  put  my  mind  to,  and  several 
other  nice  things.  I  was  so  happy  when  I  went  home  that 
my  head  swam. 

The  next  morning  when  I  went  to  work,  one  of  the  men 
came  to  me  and  exclaimed,  "Holy  smoke,  Svend!  That 
phrenologist  gave  you  a  hell  of  a  boost.  Did  you  have  to  pay 
him  anything  for  it?" 


CHAPTER  XXI 

BUILDING    MY   CABIN   BY  ODIN's   LAKE 

Viking's  Cove. 
Nov.  5,  1916. 

I  AM  home  once  more.  I  came  from  Skagway  on  a  calm 
day  with  a  lad  who  is  going  to  help  me  build  my  cabin. 
I  didn't  want  to  build  a  very  large  one,  for  it  was  liable 
to  snow  any  time  and  it  would  take  too  long  for  us  to  handle 
such  logs.  So  I  made  it  twelve  feet  wide  and  sixteen  feet 
long  and  when  a  week  had  gone  by  it  was  up  and  only 
needed  a  shake  roof  to  be  a  shelter.  Frank  had  some 
work  to  do  in  town,  so  he  left  me  to  do  the  rest.  I  got 
along  fine  until  one  day  I  broke  the  shake  maker  and  had 
to  go  to  town  to  get  another  one.  There  I  found  a  letter 
from  Marian  in  my  box  with  an  invitation  from  her  to 
spend  Christmas  with  her  family. 

I  was  delighted  and  read  it  several  times  and  as  I  read 
it  again  and  again,  it  dawned  on  me  that  she  was  writing 
a  great  deal  about  her  friend.  No,  she  did  not  love  him,  it 
was  merely  a  friendship.  I  can  see  that  she  has  made  a 
sort  of  exalted  being  of  me,  an  ideal  that  she  respects  and 
that  no  other  man  can  take  the  place  of  in  her  heart.  I  am 
afraid  that  she  has  forgotten  what  I  really  look  like  and 
she  will  be  very  much  disappointed  when  she  sees  me  again 
and  will  most  likely  marry  the  other  man.  I  have  a  good 
notion  to  stay  up  here  and  let  Fate  take  care  of  me — 
but  maybe  Fate  wishes  me  to  go  south.  No,  I'll  go  and 
face  it  out.  If  I  win,  I  know  that  I  shall  be  the  happiest 
man  on  earth,  and  if  I  lose— well,  I'll  come  back  up  here 

247 


248  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

and  be  married  to  my  ranch  till  some  day  Fate  sees  fit  to 
bring  me  a  mate. 

I  wrote  a  long  letter  to  Marian,  telling  her  just  how  mat- 
ters stood  with  me.  I  asked  her  to  think  of  me  as  just  a 
man  and  not  as  "something  tremendous,  somehow,"  as  she 
termed  it.  Our  acquaintance  is  but  very  slender  and  I  asked 
her  not  to  let  my  love  for  her  carry  too  much  weight,  be- 
cause most  likely  when  she  saw  me  she  would  be  disap- 
pointed in  me.  I  asked  her  to  consider  that  other  girls  have 
not  thought  me  worth  while  to  have  and  that  only  two 
weeks  ago  two  girls  in  Skagway  had  turned  very  cool  to- 
ward me  as  soon  as  they  learned  that  I  wanted  a  wife ;  and 
that  she  would  most  likely  do  the  same  thing  once  she 
saw  me. 

I  have  a  feeling  to-night  that"*  I  have  lost  out  in  the  mar- 
riage business.  How  could  any  girl  love  me,  anyway? 
Girls  like  a  jolly,  joking,  laughing  sort  of  fellow,  one  who 
can  make  them  giggle  and  laugh  all  the  time,  one  who  can 
entertain  them  and  show  them  a  good  time.  I  am  not  that 
way  at  all.  I  used  to  be  pretty  jolly,  but  the  prison  has 
taken  that  out  of  me  and  I  am  too  serious  minded  to  ever 
be  interesting  to  one  of  those  playful,  fresh  young  beings. 
All  I  am  fit  for  is  to  work.  I  work  from  early  dawn  till 
late  night  and  when  I  have  a  moment's  spare  time,  I  read  or 
write.  I  am  a  grinder  and  I  am  mostly  wrapped  up  in 
myself  and  my  grinding.  In  time,  perhaps,  I  will  be  used 
to  living  alone  and  not  mind  it  at  all.  Well,  time  will  show. 
I  become  too  pessimistic  when  I  get  to  thinking  how  small 
my  chances  really  are  and  I  ought  not  to  write  about  it  at 
all.    Fm  sure  it  doesn't  help  me. 

I  have  cut  a  lot  of  shakes  and  the  roof  to  my  house  is 
almost  on.  When  I  get  a  floor  and  a  ceiling  in,  a  bed  in 
the  comer  and  a  spruce  mattress,  I'll  have  a  real  home. 
My  own  home  for  the  first  time  in  my  life!  I'll  make  it 
comfortable  and  put  a  lot  of  grub  in  it  before  I  go  south,  so 
that  no  matter  in  what  financial  shape  I  come  back,  I'll  have 
a  home  to  come  to  where  I  can  at  least  live  and  eat. 


BUILDING  MY  CABIN  249 

Viking's  Cove. 
Nov.  20,  1916. 

It  is  winter.  The  leaves  fell  off  the  trees  a  month  ago, 
leaving  the  woods  naked  to  face  the  big  snows  and  the  long 
cold.  It  has  been  raining,  hailing  and  snowing  and  the 
wind  switched  around  and  came  whooping  down  from  the 
ice-bound  interior,  freezing  everything.  An  inch  of  ice 
lay  on  the  lake  this  morning,  and  when  I  poured  a  pailful 
of  water  over  my  head,  the  blood  was  sent  rushing  through 
my  veins  and  I  ran,  joyously  frantic,  for  my  little,  warm 
cabin  and  rubbed  myself  dry  by  the  hot  stove.  Ah,  but  it 
is  good  to  have  a  home  and  to  be  there.  Here  I  am  in  my 
own  cabin  on  my  own  ranch  where  everything,  animate  and 
inanimate,  is  dear  to  me.  The  trees  surrounding  the  clear- 
ing whisper  of  love  to  me  and  the  white  encircling  moun- 
tains fill  me  with  peace  and  contentment.  I  feel  very  won- 
derfully loving  and  satisfied  to-night.  The  spruce  knots 
are  crackling  and  spluttering  in  my  stove  and  the  cabin  is 
comfortably  warm.  I  feel  strong  and  capable  anti  confident 
of  the  future.  Even  if  I  never  get  a  mate,  the  woods  around 
me  are  full  of  life  and  I  love  it  all  and  shall  not  be  so  alone. 
But  to-night  I  don't  feel  like  a  loser.  I  want  a  mate  as 
badly  as  ever.  My  ranch,  my  lake,  my  woods  are  now  my 
first  love,  but  once  she  is  here,  they  will  have  to  take  second 
place,  for  she  will  be  queen  of  it  all.  I  know  that  she  will 
*  love  it  as  I  love  it,  for  no  one  who  has  been  here,  has  had 
anything  but  praise  for  the  beauty  of  the  place.  She  and 
I  will  live  here  together,  in  harmony  with  the  peaceful; 
natural  life  so  abundant  around  us. 

To-day  I  only  worked  for  a  few  hours,  for  the  sunshine 
was  bright  and  it  was  the  best  kind  of  a  day  for  hunting. 
I  went  down  along  the  beach  and  got  a  fine  mallard  duck, 
then  I  went  up  into  the  woods  and  a  blue  grouse  flew  up 
and  I  put  her  in  my  bag,  too.  When  I  got  into  the  alder 
and  willow  patches,  I  shot  four  big,  white  rabbits  and  now 
they  are  all  hanging  up  outside  of  my  cabin  and  I  am  sup- 
plied with  meat  till  I  leave  here  next  month.      The  duck, 


250  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

however,  is  roasting  in  the  oven  all  stuck  full  of  thin  strips 
of  bacon  and  filled  with  apples,  prunes  and  bread  crumbs 
and  it  is  sending  a  tantalizing  aroma  through  the  cabin. 
I  don't  like  the  idea  of  leaving  here  and  I  wish  I  could  get 
my  mate  without  going  away  from  this  place.  Yet,  the  big 
snows  will  soon  be  here  and  I  shan't  be  able  to  do  much 
work  and  a  wife  means  more  to  me  than  a  dozen  ranches, 
so  I  am  leaving  in  the  first  days  of  next  month.  I  am  going 
to  go  to  her  as  I  am,  or  at  least  I  will  wear  the  suit  I  bought 
in  Skagway,  and  I  shall  try  to  be  fair  and  promise  her 
nothing  but  hardships  and  an  uncertain  life  in  a  new,  raw 
land — and  love.  Then,  if  she  comes,  it  will  be  for  love  of 
me  and  all  will  be  well  on  Viking's  Cove.  Once  she  is 
here,  my  arm  will  surely  grow  stronger,  work  will  be  joy, 
and  fatigue  and  pain  a  pleasure,  for  it  will  be  for  her,  for 
me,  and  for  ours. 


Viking's  Cove. 

Nov.  23,  191 5. 
More  winter  weather,  raining  and  snowing,  freezing  and 
blowing.  One  day  the  woods  would  be  white  with  snow 
with  the  cold  north  wind  sweeping  down  from  the  icy 
wastes,  and  the  next  day  the  south  wind  would  burst  out 
of  the  sky  with  sleet  and  rain  and  fog,  and  the  woods  would 
become  dull  brown-green,  the  bare  branches  of  the  birch 
and  willow  standing  like  barren  forest  skeletons.  The 
storm  would  tear  at  the  tree  tops,  swaying  the  woods  in 
wavy  rushes  as  wind  sweeps  a  wheat  field.  One  day  my 
lake  would  be  frozen  over  and  I'd  walk  on  the  bulging  ice 
and  dream  of  my  boyhood  days  when  I  played  on  the  frozen 
sound;  and  the  next  day  the  ice  would  be  gone  and  the 
water  would  be  churned  and  lashed  to  a  frenzy  of  white 
foam.  Then  the  storm  would  abate  and  through  the  torn 
clouds  the  sun  would  peep  coquettishly,  as  though  to  say, 
"Did  you  think  I  would  never  shine  again?  Cheer  up,  the 
world  is  not  so  gray  as  it  may  appear."  Then  I  would  grip 
my  ax,  for  after  the  rainy  days  of  cold  and  wet,  I'd  enjoy 


BUILDING  MY  CABIN  251 

the  warmth  of  the  sun  and  the  beauty  of  the  glittering 
raindrops  in  the  spruce  branches  tenfold  more  than  if  the 
sun  had  shone  unceasingly. 

"A  little  sunshine, 
A  little  rain, 
A  little  pleasure, 
A  little  pain — 
That's  life." 

The  greater  the  pain,  the  more  hardships,  the  fiercer  the 
struggle  for  our  desire,  the  more  we  appreciate  the  joys  and 
pleasures  and  the  fulfillment  of  our  desires.  When  finally 
we  have  had  our  share  of  pain,  and  Fortune  turns  her 
beaming  face  on  us,  then,  and  then  only,  can  we  appreciate 
the  full  cup  of  Ufe. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THE  GIRL  AGAIN 

Viking's  Cove. 
Nov.  25,  1916. 

YESTERDAY  morning,  after  the  rain  had  beaten  down 
on  the  roof  of  my  little  cabin  all  night,  the  sun  peeped 
through  the  spruce  tops  and  a  west  wind  swept  the 
heavens  clear,  A  bluejay  chattered  good-morning  to  me 
from  a  branch  above  the  door  and  the  air  was  clear  and 
crisp  and  sweet.  I  had  a  lot  of  work  to  do,  but  I  hadn't 
been  to  town  for  ten  days.  The  trail  looked  mighty  in- 
vi1;ing  and  it  did  not  take  me  long  to  go  to  town.  I  grabbed 
my  rifle  and  ran  lightly  over  my  new  made  trail  to  my 
neighbor's  ranch  a  mile  away.  I  talked  with  him  a  while 
and  took  an  order  for  some  grub  he  wanted  me  to  fetch 
him ;  then  I  was  off  again  across  Flat  Bay  and  through  the 
woods  to  Chilkat  River.  I  was  full  of  life  and  jumped  from 
root  to  root  over  the  winding  trail  and  took  deep,  long 
breaths  of  clean,  cool  air.  I  was  glad  that  I  was  alive  and 
whole  and  strong.  Joy  welled  up  in  me  by  floods  and  sent 
me  whooping  through  gullies  and  over  ridges,  jumping  small 
creeks  and  plunging  through  the  overhanging  brush.  The 
sweat  ran  down  my  face  and  my  breath  came  short,  but  I 
soon  got  my  second  wind  and  my  lungs  opened  up  to  ever 
larger  draughts  of  sweetness.  I  leaped  along  the  trail  as 
though  tireless.  There  were  many  things  to  be  had  in 
town ;  news  and  letters  waiting  for  me  in  my  postoffice  box, 
so  I  ran  and  ran  and  ran,  now  and  then  stopping  to  take  a 
deep  drink  of  ice  cold  spring  water  where  it  gushed  out  of 
the  mossy  ground  and  flowed  across  the  trail,  trinkling 
over  roots  and  pebbles. 

252 


THE  GIRL  AGAIN  253 

O'Brien  had  caught  a  fox  the  night  before  and  I  watched 
him  skin  it  and  then  ran  on  again,  trotting  along  the  beach 
of  the  Chilkat  Inlet  to  Haines. 

It  was  with  an  open  spirit  as  free  from  care  and  sorrow 
as  the  clean-swept  blue  sky  above  that  I  entered  the  post- 
office  and  took  out  my  mail.  "Don't  put  too  much  emphasis 
on  my  relations  with  this  friend,  but  don't  put  too  little, 
either,"  were  Marian's  words  in  her  last  letter.  Right  then 
I  wasn't  worrying  about  him.  I  was  expecting  a  letter  from 
her  and  I  was  expecting  it  to  read  "Come  south,  friend 
Svend,  and  come  soon.  I  want  you  to  come,  Svend  Viking." 
But  I  am  used  to  hard  knocks — Once  when  I  sat  on  the 
prisoner's  bench,  the  guard  standing  close  to  me  ready  to 
grab  me  or  shoot  me  should  I  make  a  false  move,  I  listened 
to  the  judge  as  he  talked  about  my  record  and  sentenced  me 
to  fifteen  months  in  jail.  Then  and  there  a  new  phase  of 
my  life  began.  I  saw  the  cage,  my  fellow  prisoners,  and  I 
began  to  plan  what  to  do  during  those  fifteen  long  months 
in  the  cellar  under  the  courthouse. 

She  said  that  she  intended  to  marry  her  friend  right 
away.  So  now,  as  I  read  her  letter  I  began  to  plan.  My 
plans  had  been  blown  to  the  winds.  I  gave  up  the  idea  of 
going  south.  Fool  that  I  have  been  to  build  a  world  of 
love  and  air  castles! 

Then  I  read  the  other  letter,  the  one  from  Martha.  She 
said  that  she  was  "knocked  over"  and  hoped  I  would  sur- 
vive the  blow  better  than  she.  She  hoped  I  would  give  up 
my  ranch  and  come  south  and  join  them  at  the  university 
in  California.  I'd  like  to  go  to  college  but  I  am  not  going 
to  give  up  my  ranch.  I  may  lose  my  girl,  my  friends,  my 
money,  but  my  ranch  I  am  going  to  hang  onto  with  all 
my  strength.  I  am  going  to  improve  it  if  it  takes  my  last 
ounce  of  energy  and  my  last  nickel.  They  needn't  worry 
about  me ;  I'll  do  nothing  foolish.  But  here  I  am  bragging 
my  own  virtues  and  my  own  determination.  That's  be- 
cause I'm  so  stirred  up.  When  a  man  who  has  been  dream- 
ing of  love  and  has  been  expecting  to  get  married  in  z 


254  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

couple  of  months  to  a  girl  who  has  stayed  with  him  through 
thick  and  thin  for  two  long  years,  learns  just  before  he 
is  going  down  to  claim  her,  that  she  is  to  marry  another 
man  before  he  can  get  there,  it  is  no  wonder  that  he  is 
somewhat  agitated.  In  a  few  minutes  I  had  gone  from  the 
highest  spirit  of  optimism  and  joyous  living,  to  silent,  de- 
spairing meditation  and  doubt  in  myself.  Oh,  but  I  should 
like  to  go  south !  Her  invitation  for  me  to  spend  Christmas 
with  her  family  still  stands  good  and  all  my  other  friends 
are  expecting  me  and  making  plans  for  me,  and  maybe 
I'll  go  anyway.  But  I  am  afraid  mine  is  the  long,  lone 
trail  till  I  make  a  pile  of  money,  and  then  some  one  will 
rope  me  and  tie  me  and  perhaps  strip  me  of  all  I  have 
made.  Or  perhaps  I'll  lose  patience  and  let  a  moment's 
impulse  sway  my  reason,  take  a  squaw  for  my  mate  and 
live  like  many  squaw-men  without  ambition,  letting  booze 
drown  my  disgust  for  myself  and  passing  my  days  in 
stupid,  thoughtless,  seedy  existence.  Yet,  that  is  not  likely. 
Though  I  feel  broken  in  spirit  now,  I  know  that  within  me 
lies  the  spark  of  a  mighty  impulse  that  will  again  drive  me 
on  to  my  object,  the  respect  of  my  kind,  to  be  a  man  among 
men.  That  part  of  me  would  never  tolerate  any  permanent 
idleness. 

And  so  now  she  is  married !  Married  to  the  man  she  told 
me  she  could  never  love.  Can  it  be  that  she  is  afraid  of  me 
and  took  him  because  she  knew  him  better?  Oh,  I  wish 
I  knew  if  she  really  loved  him!  I  have  half  a  notion  to 
start  south  right  away.  "Faint  heart  ne'er  won  fair  lady," 
the  proverb  reads.  If  she  is  already  married,  as  she  said 
she  probably  would  be  when  I  got  this  letter,  I  can't  see 
what  I  could  do.  I  think  I'll  just  keep  on  writing  to  her 
and  sending  her  my  diary  off  and  on  as  she  asked  me  to  do. 
If  he  doesn't  like  it,  they  can  let  me  know  about  it. 

I  don't  believe  in  these  hasty  marriages.  Back  in  Den- 
mark they  are  generally  engaged  for  a  year  before  they 
marry,  and  while  there  are  many  broken  engagements,  there 
are  but  few  broken  marriages.    Now  there  is  only  one  thing 


THE  GIRL  AGAIN  255 

for  me  to  do  and  that  is  to  hope,  and  if  I  find  out  that  she 
is  married,  then  I  will  forget  about  her. 


Viking's  Cove. 
Dec.  2,  1916. 
Another  week  or  more  has  passed  since  I  wrote  in  this 
diary,  a  week  of  constant  doubt  and  change  of  mind.  One 
day  I  was  going  south  and  the  next  day  I  was  going  to  stay 
on  my  ranch.  But  now  at  last  I  have  made  up  ray  mind 
to  stay  here,  doing  what  I  can  to  improve  my  homestead. 
The  snow  is  three  feet  deep  on  the  level  and  much  deeper 
where  it  has  drifted.  I  had  to  wallow  in  snow  up  to  my 
arm  pits  to  get  to  two  of  my  nearest  traps  and  I  cannot 
reach  the  others  until  I  can  use  skis.  While  I  was  strug- 
gling through  the  snow,  falling  headlong  into  it  at  times 
when  I  ran  onto  an  unexpected  root  or  log,  I  said  to  myself, 
"You  surely  have  nerve,  expecting  a  woman  from  California 
who  has  hardly  even  seen  snow,  to  come  up  here  and  live 
under  such  conditions."  Everything  has  turned  out  right 
for  me.  This  is  a  man's  country  and  will  remain  so  till 
men  make  good  roads,  build  warm,  roomy  houses,  and 
have  all  the  necessary  comforts  a  woman  must  have.  When 
we  have  all  this  here,  when  there  is  a  roomy,  comfortable 
house  on  Odin's  Lake,  then  I  shall  feel  justified  in  bringing 
a  woman  here.  I  hadn't  thought  deeply  enough  on  this 
matter.  I  had  thought  of  a  woman  as  a  creature  much  like 
myself  who  would  soon  adapt  herself  to  these  conditions. 
But  when  I  look  back  and  see  the  men  whom  I  have  lived 
with,  especially  while  I  was  in  the  army,  and  realize  how 
often  some  of  them  would  consider  as  hardships  things 
which  I  thought  were  mere  play  or  enjoyment;  when  I  re- 
member that  these  men  were  soldiers  in  fairly  good  con- 
dition, and  then  try  to  imagine  a  woman  like  Marian  living 
my  life  and  sharing  my  hardships,  I  see  how  impossible  it 
all  is.  How  hopeless!  There  is  no  chance  that  the  kind 
of  woman  I  want  could  build  a  home  with  me.  I'll  have 
to  build  alone  and  build  well  before  I  can  ask  a  woman  to 


256  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

come  to  Viking's  Cove.  No,  I'll  wait  till  I'm  a  made  man, 
with  accomplishments  to  look  back  on,  before  I  go  seeking 
a  mate.  As  things  are  now,  I  have  only  begun  in  my 
making. 

Supper  is  over  and  I  feel  quite  resigned  to  things  as  they 
are.  I  had  roast  rabbit,  fried  potatoes,  cheese,  bread  and 
tea,  and  it  was  all  good,  so  good  that  I  feel  no  need  of  a 
cook  at  all.  Queer,  how  a  good  meal  and  a  warm  place  to 
sit  makes  one  feel  satisfaction  with  life.  My  dogs  are 
curled  up  at  my  feet  and  my  little  new  kitten  lies  on  my 
bed  purring  and  looking  wonderingly  at  me.  He  is  black 
and  has  green  eyes  and  I  have  named  him  Loki,  after  the 
Norse  god  of  evil  doing,  for  we  had  several  fights  on  the 
way  over  here  from  the  neighbor's  where  I  got  him.  He 
would  not  stay  in  my  pocket  and  he  bit  my  hand  to  the 
bone.  Ah,  yes,  it  is  good  to  have  a  home  and  family  that 
loves  me. 


Haines,  Alaska. 
Dec.  25,  1916. 

I  was  going  to  stay  on  the  ranch,  spending  the  first  Christ- 
mas in  my  home,  but  yesterday  morning  a  spell  of  loneliness 
overwhelmed  me  and  I  changed  my  mind  and  made  ready  to 
go  to  town  in  a  hurry.  I  got  into  my  good  clothes  and 
my  new  mackinaw,  and  was  about  ready  to  leave,  when  a 
feeling  came  over  me  that  I  might  be  gone  for  a  long  time. 
I  thought  it  was  only  a  silly  notion,  but  I  decided  it  could 
do  no  harm  to  be  prepared,  so  I  packed  things  away  as 
if  I  were  going  to  be  gone  for  the  winter  and  I  decided  to 
take  Loki  back  to  his  mother  to  stay  while  I  was  gone;  I 
put  him  in  my  pocket  and  started  out. 

I  wanted  to  look  at  the  lake  before  I  went,  so  I  walked 
out  on  the  ice  and  looked  around.  It  was  very  beautiful. 
I  never  look  at  that  scene  without  marveling  over  the 
beauty  of  it.  Around  the  lake  the  wreath  of  birch  and 
spruce,  and  back  of  that  a  ring  of  white,  towering  peaks. 
Oh,  the  magnificent  grandeur  of  it!    It  was  calm  and  the 


THE  GIRL  AGAIN  257 

sky  was  azure.  The  air  was  clean  and  thin,  about  five 
below  zero  and  its  freshness  tingled  in  every  fiber  of  my 
body.  I  felt  reluctant  to  leave  and  I  promised  my  fairy- 
land kingdom  not  to  be  gone  very  long  as,  with  my  dogs 
at  my  heels,  I  slowly  mushed  over  the  frozen  snow  toward 
town. 

The  trail  was  ideal,  for  the  snow  was  frozen  hard  and 
I  made  town  before  dinner  time.  There  I  met  three  men 
from  up  the  river  and  spent  Christmas  Eve  with  them. 
Norse  men,  they  are,  and  we  had  a  real,  old-time  Viking 
feast,  a  great  big,  fat  roast  goose,  stuffed  with  prunes, 
raisins  and  apples,  and  everything  else  that  goes  to  make 
a  Christmas  dinner.  We  had  cakes  and  pies  and  preserved 
fruits;  they  drank  wine  and  beer  and  I  drank  grape  juice 
and  we  told  jokes  and  yams  and  roared  with  laughter  till 
the  whole  cabin  shook,  Haakon,  Knud,  Einer  and  I!  Oh, 
it  was  a  meal  and  we  were  as  uproariously  jolly  as  any 
Vikings  ever  were.  Our  talk  was  partly  Swedish,  partly 
Danish,  but  mostly  our  adopted  language,  but  we  were 
Norsemen  this  evening.  The  northlights,  shooting  in  fan- 
like bars  overhead  in  the  starry  heavens,  the  towering  moun- 
tains around  and  the  nearness  of  the  sea,  all  helped  to 
make  us  for  the  time  jolly  Norsemen  at  their  feast. 

Then  we  went  to  church  to  attend  the  Christmas  tree 
celebration,  but  we  were  not  jolly  and  noisy  there.  We 
were  timid  and  backward,  ready  to  blush  and  run  if  we 
should  happen,  in  our  uncouth  way,  to  make  a  mistake. 

This  morning  the  boat  came  in  with  my  Christmas  news. 
Her  letter  came  and  again  my  plans  tumbled  and  fell 
belter  skelter  about  me.  My  plans  for  the  winter  and  for 
my  lonely  life  on  the  ranch  all  toppled  over  and  in  their 
places  rose  joy,  hope,  and  exaltation. 

"Wake  up,  man  of  the  north,"  it  read,  "you  have  been 
dreaming.  7  am  not  married  nor  engaged  to  any  one  and 
I  am  not  going  to  be  to  any  one  but  you.  Maybe  this  will 
be  hard  for  you  to  believe,  but  it  is  true,  nevertheless." 

Ah,  but  my  heart  throbbed  as  I  read  those  lines  and  my 


258  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

pent-up  lonesome  love  was  let  loose  in  the  glorious  sun- 
shine of  hope  and  expectation! 

When  she  realized  that  I  was  coming,  she  had  been 
afraid  of  me,  the  dear,  and  had  ducked  for  shelter  like  a 
scared  rabbit.  But  soon  they  both  realized  that  their  en- 
gagement was  a  farce  and  had  broken  it  off  by  mutual 
agreement. 

"But  now,  Svend  Viking,  I'm  not  afraid  of  you  any 
more,  only  a  little  bit.  You  see,  there  are  things  that  are 
bigger  than  being  afraid  and  my  caring  for  you  is  one  of 
them." 

"Svend  Viking,  come  south,"  she  wrote  then.  "Don't 
disregard  this  call.  I  have  not  only  poked  my  head  out  of 
my  shell  to  say  this,  I  have  come  altogether  out  of  it. 
Svend,  for  the  pain  I  have  caused  you,  oh,  I  am  so  sorry, 
so  very  sorry.  You  have  never  been  far  from  my  thoughts. 
I  wonder  if  it  is  possible  for  you  to  understand  all  this. 
If  you  don't  understand,  say  so,  for  I'll  not  blame  you.  I 
want  to  explain  that  I  am  not  planning  to  marry  you  as 
soon  as  we  meet.  Nay,  not  so,  but  I  want  to  see  you  and 
maybe  I  have  forfeited  my  right,  but — if  you  knew  me 
better,  you  would  know  that  I  very  seldom  ask  anything 
like  this.  Somehow,  I  feel  sure  that  you  will  come.  You 
are  so  very  understanding.    And  now  back  to  the  shell." 

And  then  it  had  a  postscript  just  as  a  woman's  letter 
should : 

"P.  S.  Any  real  woman  would  be  insulted  to  be  asked 
to  wait  and  not  be  allowed  to  help  you  build  your  home." 

Can  any  one  wonder  that  my  heart  is  light  and  my  soul 
full  of  sunshine?  Can  any  one  wonder  that  my  plans  are 
changed  and  that  I  am  leaving  to-morrow  for  the  south, 
on  the  same  boat  that  brought  this  Christmas  letter? 

And  this  is  the  end  of  my  diary  as  a  bachelor.  I  feel 
assured  that  when  I  again  open  this  book  to  write,  I  shall 
have  a  mate  and  we  shall  write  in  it  together.  To-morrow 
I  am  leaving.    And  next  spring  I'll  be — ^we'U  be  back. 


JHE  GIRL  AGAIN  259 

Viking's  Cove. 
May  19,  1917. 

The  spring  is  here !  To-day  the  sun  shone  warmly  from 
early,  early  morning  till  this  late  hour,  half  past  nine.  It 
filled  the  world  up  here  by  Odin's  Lake  with  security  and 
promise  of  summer.  The  birches,  alders  and  willows  un- 
folded their  buds  and  flooded  the  woods  with  the  soft  green 
colors  that  the  dryads'  clothes  are  made  of.  The  songbirds 
sang  from  morning  till  night,  the  squirrels  hustled  from 
spruce  to  spruce,  talking  to  one  another  of  the  beauty  and 
the  love  that  the  day  had  brought.  When  the  sun  sank  be- 
neath the  pearly,  studded  peaks  far  to  the  northwestward, 
Marian  and  I  sat  up  there  on  the  cliff  looking  down  at 
Odin's  Lake  and  out  over  the  fiord  and  the  mountain ;  and 
oh,  how  beautiful  it  all  was! 

This  day  we  did  not  work.  It  was  a  holy  day,  for  the 
spring  came  to-day  and  we  spent  most  of  our  time  up  there 
on  the  cliflF,  bathed  in  the  warm  sunshine  and  reading  this, 
my  diary.  As  the  golden  sun  disk  disappeared,  vanishing 
into  the  north,  we  sat  there  hand  in  hand  and  thought  of 
the  many  perils  and  unfortunate  happenings  of  these  years 
we  have  been  apart.  Marian  sat  silent  for  a  long  time,  but 
her  hand  lay  reassuringly  in  mine.  I  looked  at  her  golden 
glinted  hair  and  her  clean  innocent  face,  her  trusting  hand 
lying  there  in  mine,  and  I  wondered  if  it  was  right  that  I, 
who  had  been  only  so  recently  in  jail,  an  outlaw  and  a 
desperado,  should  have  her  for  a  mate — this  girl  who  is 
so  pure  and  unspoiled  and  innocent. 

She  smiled  at  me  as  if  she  guessed  my  thoughts. 

"Do  you  know  what  I  have  been  thinking?  Everything 
here  is  so  pure  and  fresh  and  untouched,  somehow,  that 
it  seems  as  if  God  incarnate  might  walk  among  these  beauti- 
ful mountains  and  up  these  shining  water  paths;  and  that 
for  that  reason,  they  are  all  wrapped  in  joyous,  holy  silence 
that  makes  man  seem  very  small  and  inconsequential,  and 
perhaps  even  unworthy  when  he  has  made  mistakes.  And 
I  wondered  if  you  were  thinking  of  the  time  when  you  were 


26o  ALASKA  MAN'S  LUCK 

in  jail  and  that  perhaps  you  did  not  belong  to  all  this.  But 
you  know,  Svend,  the  mistakes  we  make  are  only  the  steps 
along  the  road  to  wisdom.  You  learned  so  many  things 
of  kindness  and  of  patience  and  of  resignation  and  of 
justice  and  mercy.  Do  you  remember  that  dream  you 
dreamed  when  I  came  to  you  and  said,  'All's  grist  that  goes 
to  the  mill'  ?  That's  what  I  say  now,  Svend.  It  is  all  grist 
that  goes  to  the  mill" 


THE  END 


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